


Vissi d'Arte, Vissi d'Amore

by vix_spes



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Cannibalism, Character Death, Flirting, Fluff, Frottage, Getting Together, Homophobia, Insecurity, Jealousy, Language of Flowers, M/M, Manipulation, Murder Husbands, Operas, Porn, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Public Sex, Rimming, Romance, Season/Series 04, Semi-Public Sex, Snark, Symbolism, They Flip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-22 04:19:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 72,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16590728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vix_spes/pseuds/vix_spes
Summary: Opera. An extended dramatic work in one or more acts, set to music for singers and instrumentalists. Common themes include love, betrayal, manipulation, misunderstandings and death.Will Graham had had no plan for if he and Hannibal survived the leap from the bluff. Once he had recovered, Hannibal did have a plan; a grand tour of Europe featuring many of the same themes as the greatest works of opera.And more opera than Will was necessarily prepared for.





	1. You must forgive me for changing the natural order of the menu

**Author's Note:**

> There are too many people to thank for this monster which just spawned to twice the intended size. Huge thanks to IDFYTI for the stunning art and for Fluegelschatten for the beta. To Electra and Nia for convincing me that I was a good enough writer and could do this justice, and Perse for the read-through.
> 
> You can find IDFYTI's amazing art [here](http://idontfindyouthatinteresting.co.uk/post/180007940765/vissi-darte-vissi-damore-part-of-the-murder) and [here](http://idontfindyouthatinteresting.co.uk/post/180007932580/vissi-darte-vissi-damore-part-of-the-murder) ... please go and leave it some love!

It felt strange being back in the US. The modernity of the city around them, so different to the European cities that had been their home, and the American accents as opposed to the harsher, more guttural Slavic languages and the fast musicality of the Mediterranean dialects.

It had been the best part of eighteen months since their plunge over the cliffs, since they had set foot on American soil and oh, how things had changed. Will hadn't exactly been in a hurry to come back but it was necessary. If he and Hannibal wanted any sort of life together, a life where they could settle down and actually live without constantly looking over their shoulders, then they needed to end it. They needed to end him.

Getting into the US had been stressful. They had made a few alterations to their physical appearances over the last year or so, using dyes, growing and cutting hair, growing facial hair but one thing had been apparent through all of it; it was simply impossible to hide Hannibal's ridiculous facial structure. There was nothing that could be done; the angular jaw, cheekbones that could cut glass, high forehead, it wasn't feasible to hide with anything less than plastic surgery and that wasn't going to happen. Will wouldn’t allow it. He may get the urge to do damage to that ridiculous face (albeit less than he used to) but he was still more than a little fond of it. In the end, they had come in across the land border from Canada on a bus to avoid the more stringent airport security. In hindsight, Will would have almost preferred that given the number of tics and twitches Hannibal had developed as he struggled with the urge to kill or maim their fellow passengers. Still, they had made it and with just one casualty who wouldn't be missed by anyone.

They had travelled lightly but, of course, Hannibal had still managed to bring with them the tailored tuxedos that he had had made for them in Italy. Rationally, Will knew that the reason that he and Hannibal were garnering so many glances was because they were a handsome couple who were incredibly well-dressed but, every time a glance lingered, he couldn’t help but worry that it was because someone had recognised their faces. So, it was with no little relief when they took their seats in the auditorium and the lights dimmed, hiding them from view.

That relief was short-lived when the curtain rose and so did Will’s eyebrows. “Why the hell are there sheep on stage? I thought we were coming to an opera not some weird-ass circus.”

An elderly woman several seats down, dressed in some black-lace concoction dressed up with pearls and an up-do that looked as though a hurricane wouldn’t move it, leant forward in her seat, glowered at them and hissed out for them to be quiet. Rolling his eyes, Will settled down in his seat just as the orchestra struck up.

When the curtain dropped for the interval, Will was the first one on his feet and heading for the bar, not caring if he pushed past people and drew attention to himself. At the bar, he wasted no time in ordering himself several fingers of whisky as well as a glass of red wine for Hannibal. He was halfway through it by the time that Hannibal joined him, a hand automatically going to the small of Will’s back.

“There were more than a few ruffled feathers but I have smoothed them over and made apologies on your behalf. Dare I ask how you are finding it?”

“Ugh, it's weird. I know it's based on a surrealist movie but, even so. And thank god for subtitles. They're speaking English but you'd never know it. I think I can understand one word out of every three. It's almost as bad as the Bartók.”

“The Bartók was entirely your fault, darling. I cannot be blamed for that. And it's more melodic, you have to admit.”

“Yeah, okay. And only just; can't imagine I'm going to be humming any of the tunes. Why did you pick this one? Wasn't there one with better tunes?”

“All shall be revealed in the third act. Patience, my Will.”

“Third act?” Will knocked back the rest of his drink and signalled for another. “This had better be good.”

It was good.

Will had to hand it Hannibal. He might have had to wait until the middle of third act, almost the end of the entire opera, but it was entirely worth it. As the action on-stage unfolded and Hannibal’s plan became known, Will couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face as he turned to press a kiss to the base of Hannibal’s ear before whispering in it.

“I love it. And I love you.” 

~*~

“So, why this particular meal? Is there a particular significance?” Will asked as he reached out and stole a pinch of the spinach and mushroom crumb that Hannibal was using to stuff the joint. An actual animal joint, rather than a human one. Veal, he thought; he hadn’t been there when Hannibal had done the shopping. It also struck him how comfortable and confident Hannibal seemed in any kitchen, even if it wasn’t his own.

“There is. And a significance that dear old Uncle Jack will understand. Of that, I have little doubt.”

Anything more Hannibal was going to say - if there was anything - was interrupted, as their guest roused just enough to make an incoherent noise. Will cast a glance in her direction as he took a sip of the Chianti that Hannibal had poured them.

“Does she need another dose? Or will she be okay for a while?”

Hannibal shot his own glance to the end of the counter where Kade Prurnell sat, bound and drugged in her own kitchen, just waiting for the next part of their plan. It had been almost disturbingly easy for them to gain access, especially when you considered her position within the Department of Justice. Will had simply picked the locks, even with Hannibal groping his ass, and then they had been in, simply having to wait for her to return him. If she had bodyguards, then they needed retraining because only the most cursory of checks had been carried out before Kade had been left alone in a house that also contained Will and Hannibal.

There had been little doubt in Will’s mind as to who the perfect person was to grab Jack’s attention. After all, it was thanks to Kade’s interference that things had changed, that Will’s plans had altered. He had planned to leave with Hannibal all those years ago but, due to Kade’s quick maneuvering, he had been too late. Now, it was time for her to pay.

And pay she would. A dual role. Messenger to Jack Crawford as well as featured role in The Exterminating Angel onstage at the Met. She would just never be visible to the audience. 

~*~

It had been easier than Will had expected, getting backstage at the Metropolitan Opera House. He had envisaged all sorts of issues, not least because they had an unconscious Kade with them. Instead, they had simply breezed in as easy as you please.

As with all major theatres, the Met ran several productions concurrently and, with Adriana Lecouvreur having finished, it was time for the sets and costumes for Le Fille du Regiment to do their get in. Hannibal had worked his magic and they had brought Kade into Lincoln Centre in plain sight, hidden in one of the large metal containers used to transport set and props.

Once inside, it was surprisingly easy to hide until the required moment. The stage area of the Met was both one of the largest and most complex in the world, Will had been informed. With three slip stages, seven hydraulic elevators and two cycloramas, it was easy enough for them to hide away unnoticed for the afternoon, even accompanied by a drugged Kade. There were a myriad of rehearsal rooms, dressing rooms, storage cupboards and nooks and crannies that they could disappear into until the time came for them to carry out the rest of their plan. 

(~*~)

There had only been one point where Will had panicked and thought they were going to get caught and it was so surreal that he couldn’t quite believe it. They had been in the process of moving Kade from the spot where they had been hiding all afternoon towards the hydraulic elevators that would take them to the stage and allow them to carry out their plan when Hannibal had become distracted by several unusual cast members. Will had induled him at first but, when five minutes passed by with Hannibal showing no signs of moving, Will lost his patience.

“Hannibal, for god’s sake, can you stop petting the bloody sheep? We have something that we’re here to do and their handler could come back any minute.”

“There’s no harm done by taking a few minutes. I’m rather fond of sheep as it happens.”

“As an ingredient or as a pet?”

Hannibal ignored Will and continued petting the sheep. “There were sheep in the stable during that case with Peter Bernadone. Do you remember it?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget someone sewing their social worker inside a horse, Hannibal. Besides, it was the first case I worked after getting out of prison, somewhere we might end up again _if you don’t stop petting the bloody sheep and get a move on.”_

“We are not going to end up in prison but you are correct, we should continue with the plan.”

“So glad that you agree with me.”

“Sarcasm is not an attractive trait, William.”

“Yet it doesn’t stop you from bedding me on a daily basis. Or from wanting me from the beginning. And don’t call me William. Now, shall we?”

“By all means. After you.”

“Of course, make me do all the work, why don’t you.”

The two of them managed to get the container - and themselves - onto one of the hydraulic elevators and hidden under the relevant trapdoor by the time the interval arrived and the corridors were flooded with people. They had rather more time to wait than either man would have liked in the tiny space but that couldn’t be helped.

Unsurprisingly, Hannibal had planned it down to the last second and with this one, as opposed to the other operatic murders, the timing was absolutely crucial. The second that they heard the footsteps of Eduardo and Beatriz pass above them, they sprang into action and opened the trapdoor, manoeuvring Kade’s limp body into the on-stage closet. As the techs ensured that the fake blood pumped out of the closet, Hannibal opened Kade’s throat with a knife, sending her blood spilling out onto the stage, mixing with the stage blood in the process. Secreting the knife in his waistband, Hannibal and Will closed the trapdoor and made their way out of the building through the artists entrance, leaving the body behind to await discovery.

The second that they were out on Lincoln Street Plaza, Will relaxed. Kade was unequivocally dead and Jack had been summoned.

“Now what?”

“Now, I believe it’s time that we pay an old friend a visit. Dinner in Baltimore perhaps? I’m sure they’ll be expecting us if the postal services have done their job correctly.”

“Yes.” Will’s lip curled slightly, “I think this particular menu has waited long enough.” 

~*~

It was strange being back. It had been over a year since Jack had worked a case, been at a crime scene. A year of being idle. Of having nothing but his thoughts to occupy him. Memories of Bella. Time to think about where he had gone wrong with both Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter. Irrespective of that fact, it had been the simplest thing to slip into that mentality again.

As far as crime scenes went, it was one of the better locations he had been called to. The Metropolitan Opera House at Lincoln Centre was a far cry from a murder totem on a freezing cold beach or a girl impaled on stags antlers in a Minnesota field. There was a small crowd hovering at the cordon, seeking to appease their morbid curiosity and a few journalists wanting the latest scoop if some of the shouts were anything to go by. The agents on the cordon had obviously been briefed about his arrival because they let him through as soon as he approached the tape barrier and gave his name, one of them escorting him to the agent in charge of the investigation.

The facade of the Met, with its concrete arches amid swathes of glass and bronze, was impressive enough but nothing compared to the interior. Even with white-clad forensic technicians swarming all over, it couldn’t detract from the impressive appearance of the auditorium as they walked past. The front of the stalls were full of black-clad people, clearly waiting to be interviewed and none of them looking particularly happy to be there. Members of the orchestra and backstage crew who wanted nothing more than to be in the bar already. Jack allowed himself to be ushered past them through a ‘staff only’’ door and found himself directed onto the stage where more police tape and a veritable pool of blood awaited him.

This wasn't what he had been expecting when he'd been told they'd found a body at the Met.

As he approached, taking care to avoid the puddle of crimson fluid which was already showing severe signs of coagulation around the edges, Jack’s eyes were flitting all over the place. Other than the pool of blood, there didn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary on the minimalistic set. As he approached what looked like a small room, a thin guy around Jack’s age with thinning hair detached himself from a knot of CSI’s, heading to Jack with an outstretched hand.

“Agent Crawford, I'm Agent Collins. Thanks for getting here so quickly. Have you been briefed on the situation?”

“Not as such. I received a call from the Director asking me to come in; he said I was relevant to the case but nothing more than that.”

“The production currently onstage is Thomas Adés’ opera The Exterminating Angel. It was commissioned by the Met in collaboration with the Royal Opera House in London, Salzburg Festival and the Royal Danish Opera. The reception has been good, sold out most nights. There are a number of onstage deaths during the production and after the curtain fell this evening, a body was discovered. Well, you'll see why you were called in.” Collins held the tape aloft and gestured for Jack to precede him. “A mobile phone was found on the victim. It had been wiped clean of all personal data, everything except your name and number.” Collins trailed off as he ran into Jack’s back. “Agent Crawford?”

“Your victim is Kade Prurnell, Agent Collins. Investigatory with the Office of the Inspector General. At least she was.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive. She wanted to arrest me several years ago. When was time of death?”

“Some point between approximately eight-thirty and ten pm last night.”

“That was over twelve hours ago. Why wasn’t I called in sooner?”

“You were called in as soon as we could. We were only called in about nine this morning. Seems there was some sort of party last night and the crew decided to come in early this morning rather than cleaning up last night. Apparently they use a water-based stage blood that cleans up easily so suspicions were roused when they tried to clean up this morning. They called in the NYPD when they found the body and they took a look before calling us.”

“And cause of death was the slit throat?”

“We believe so. Only visible wound and exsanguination would account for that much blood. Why?”

“Has anyone checked to see if there are any organs missing?”

“Missing organs? You think…” Collins definitely looked green now, “we’ll get autopsy to check.”

“I’d get someone to check her home as well, see if there’s anything there. Washington Field Office will be closest if she’s still based out of the DoJ. I’m going to get coffee. Call me if you find anything.”

Jack strode out of the building away from Lincoln Centre, ignoring the baying questions of the accumulated press and headed for the nearest place that sold coffee. He wanted something stronger but he needed to keep a clear head. If this was who he thought it was - and he couldn’t think of anyone else who would kill Kade Prurnell and ensure Jack was called in - then what were they doing? Why were they back now? He made a few calls to the people who would still take his calls and found that they hadn’t been flagged entering via any airports which meant they had to have come in another way. It was mid-afternoon before he received a phone call from Collins asking him to meet him at the morgue of the main New York field office in Federal Plaza, Manhattan.

“Agent Collins? What have you got?”

“Well, no organs were missing. Cause of death was definitely the cut throat. In fact, there are no other visible signs of injury except for several track marks in her left arm. Tox screens are still running but we believe she was drugged.”

“That would explain why nobody heard a disturbance. Any sign of anything on the CCTV footage?”

“No but we’ve got officers checking through it now. Only problem is, we don’t know who we’re looking for or even how many people.”

Jack had an idea but he kept quiet, not wanting to say anything until he was sure. “What about the house in Washington? Anything?”

“No signs of a disturbance or of a break-in. Only strange thing was in the kitchen. There was a meal left on the table that had been there for a while given the flies buzzing around it, some kind of roast it looks like. They’ve sent some pictures through.”

Jack was impressed that he didn’t drop the phone given that his fingers felt numb and the blood was roaring in his ears. It was, as Collins said, seemingly a deceptively simple roast. To anyone else, it wouldn’t have any significance but it did to Jack.

Roasted pork loin with Cumberland sauce.

The first meal that Hannibal had ever served him. Even if Jack hadn’t recognised it, there was the note to the left of it that unequivocally proved Jack had been right. The roar in his ears dulled to nothing as he took control of the situation.

“I need to get back to Baltimore and I need as many agents as you can give me. I know who did it.”

“Who?”

“Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham.” Jack’s tone was grim as he started heading for the exit. It was almost a four hour drive from New York to Baltimore. Even with the lights and sirens going and his foot pressed to the floor, he’d struggle to make it in less than three hours. A glance to his left saw Agent Collins’ furrowed brow as he tried to place the two names, the blanching of his face signifying when it clicked.

“H-han … Hannibal the Cannibal? And the FBI guy? I thought they were dead?”

“We all did. They never found their bodies.”

“So how do you know it’s them?”

“Because only one person has ever referred to me as Uncle Jack, even if he never did it to my face.” 

~*~

She should have known.

She should have realised that her home was not as she had left it; empty. But, she had been out and indulged in several more glasses of excellent red wine than she should have and thus had let her guard down. The offers to lecture were drying up - people were losing their interest in Hannibal the Cannibal - and her previously acquired money would not keep her in the life to which she had become accustomed to forever. This luncheon had been a meeting with one of the last reputable editors; if he wasn’t interested then she was going to have to lower herself to dealing with the likes of that brazen redhead and her trashy, tabloid style of journalism.

Outwardly, visually, everything was as she had left it; not a single thing out of place. Yet, as she let herself through the front door and closed it with a soft click behind her, Bedelia couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t alone. The last time she had had that feeling, Hannibal had been using her shower to clean himself of blood and they had ended up in Florence.

Nevertheless, she didn’t turn and run.

What would be the point? There were only two people who had the balls to break into her home. They would find her whatever she did - change her name, her address - none of it would make a difference. They would still find her. In the back of her mind, she had known since she left Florence that she was living on borrowed time and now, it would seem that her time had run out. Stalling wasn’t going to make things any easier. It would merely prolong the inevitable. Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door and walked into her living room.

As she had expected, she wasn’t alone.

Standing by the window, legs akimbo and arms clasped behind his back - presumably to stop himself from fidgeting - was Will Graham, while Hannibal sat on one of the chairs, lounging as insouciantly as he had during their appointments. Not for the first time, he reminded her of a big cat; seemingly relaxed but ever deadly and ready to strike at a moment’s notice.

“Hello Bedelia.”

“Hannibal. Will.” Bedelia crossed over to where she kept her alcohol, pouring herself a substantial glass of brandy; wine simply wasn’t going to cut it. She then proceeded to get straight to the point, “are you here to kill me?”

“Where would the fun be in that?”

“Of course, you and your little games, Hannibal. So, if you're not here to kill me, why are you here?”

“Merely dinner with an old friend. I’m sure you must have been expecting us to drop by at some point.”

“I was. I received your little pets macabre reminder.”

“This pet bites, Bedelia. I wouldn’t forget that.”

“I see you are no longer afraid of becoming Hannibal, Mr Graham. You have clearly found a way to live with him. To become as bad as him, no less. How easy are you finding it to hold onto the Devil?”

“I don’t seem to have had any issues so far. And I wouldn’t say I have become as bad as Hannibal. Let us say that I have become what I was supposed to be, what was always under the surface.”

For his part, Hannibal seemed to be rather enjoying the war of words between his current and former paramours, sitting back and indulging in a glass of wine. He set it aside as Bedelia gave a dismissive sniff and turned away from Will, focusing her attention on Hannibal.

“I believe you mentioned dinner, Hannibal. What gourmet fare is on the menu this evening?” Bedelia was either too slow from alcohol or she had forgotten how quickly Hannibal could move. Before she knew it, he had moved from his informal, almost rakish, sprawl to being a menacing presence behind her.

“That would be you.” 

~*~

Jack knew it as soon as he approached the door to Dr du Maurier’s home and was glad that he had insisted on back-up.

They were too late.

There was nothing to suggest it outwardly – everything looked perfectly normal, seemingly nothing out of place – but it was that gut instinct of years of investigating for the FBI. They were too late. Will and Dr Lecter had beaten them here. Drawing his gun and seeing the other agents doing the same in his peripheral vision, Jack pushed gently at the front door, his heart racing just that little bit faster as it swung open without obstruction. This wasn’t good.

“FBI! Dr du Maurier?”

There was no sound. To be perfectly honest, Jack hadn’t been expecting a reply. Even if she was alive, who knew what condition the female psychiatrist was in. And then there was Will and Hannibal. Surely they wouldn’t have stayed? Jack couldn’t imagine why they would have done but he had presumed to know both men before and had been proved completely and utterly wrong.

The other agents fanned out behind him to check the other rooms while Jack continued straight ahead, moving towards the only room that was lit. He wasn’t as familiar with Dr du Maurier’s home, not like he had been with Dr Lecter. Most meetings or interactions between them had occurred at the FBI so while he had visited a couple of times, he didn't know the exact layout. Bracing himself as he reached the door, Jack took a deep breath and pushed it open only to freeze in shock at the scene before him.

He had seen many crime scenes over the years, even before his single-minded hunt for the Chesapeake Ripper and had seen some truly awful things over the years but this had to be one of those that was going to stick with him for a long time. It wasn’t just because Dr du Maurier was still alive – although how, he wasn’t sure – but because Will had done this, had a hand in it. This wasn’t the Will Graham that Jack knew, had known, thought he had known. This was calculated, cruel and sadistic.

The only light in the room came from the multitude of candles dotted around the periphery, as well as on the dining table. It gave the space an ethereal atmosphere, even with the macabre centrepiece.

The table was elaborately laid for three, but two of the place setting appeared to be unused, except for the last few dregs of wine in the glasses. At the third setting sat Dr du Maurier, perfectly coiffed and dressed in an elaborate evening gown although she had delayed responses and a slightly vacant appearance, almost as though she had been drugged. And then Jack saw both the empty space, the way that her dress hung oddly and the elaborate roast in the centre, wrapped in leaves and still steaming from the coals beneath it. Just as his mind acknowledged the fact that the joint was too big to have come from any animal, the psychiatrists eyes slid over and locked with his.

As the psychiatrist moved and a faint, fluttering moan left her throat, Jack broke out of his trance and holstered his gun as he sprang into action.

“Here! In here. In the dining room. Call 911, I need paramedics.” Jack’s voice cracked. “Dr du Maurier’s alive!”

The house sprang to life around him, and in no time at all, the air was filled with the wail of sirens and blue flashing lights. Jack was taken back in time as paramedics took control, loading the doctor onto a gurney as forensics buzzed around gathering evidence. One particularly brave tech, an unfamiliar face to Jack, approached him.

“Age… umm, Mr Crawford? Sir?”

“What is it?”

“There’s a lot of evidence, sir. Fingerprints, hair, fibres, the works. Either they’re really inexperienced or…”

“Or what?”

“Or it’s as though they want to know who did it.”

Jack barely managed to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “They’re not inexperienced. They couldn’t get more experienced. They want us to know it was them and I already know who did it. Run the tests so that the evidence confirms it. I’m off to the hospital to follow up on Dr du Maurier.” 

(~*~)

It may have been the best part of eighteen months since he had been let go by the FBI – “retirement” – but nothing changed about hospital waiting rooms. Hell, he could probably come back in about ten years and things would still be the same. Artificial lights that made your eyes sting and your head ache, a mixture of smells that didn’t affect him after years of crime scenes, uncomfortable chairs and piss-poor excuse for coffee. The charge nurse had told him upon arrival that they had rushed the doctor into surgery as soon as she was brought in and that the surgeons would be out to see him as soon as they closed up. Preparing himself for a long wait, Jack had been surprised when, an hour after he arrived, and just having received confirmation that fingerprints were a match for Will and Doctor Lecter, a man in scrubs walked in.

“Agent Crawford? Frankie Louzado; I’m the surgeon that worked on Dr du Maurier.”

“It’s Jack, please. How’s she doing? I was expecting to be waiting a lot longer.”

“To be honest, there wasn’t much to be done. I mean, whoever did the amputation … I hate to say it but they were good. It feels wrong to admire it but the incisions were clean, the suture’s neat. They knew what they were doing.”

“They’re a former ER surgeon.”

“You know who did this?”

“Yes. We believe that Dr du Maurier has been forced to consume part of the amputated leg.”

The surgeon blanched and shook his head. “Just when you think you’ve heard it all. Look, Dr du Maurier is doing well, all things considering but there’s little point hanging around tonight. She’s in surgical recovery at the moment and, while the operation went well, we’ll probably keep her sedated until the morning. If you want to come back in the afternoon, she’ll probably be able to speak to you.”

“Okay, great. And in terms of recovery?”

“Physically, she’ll make a full recovery. Like I said, it was a clean job and, if she wants it, we can fit a prosthesis at a later date. Mentally? I can’t possibly say. That’s up to the patient. I can’t give you more than that, I’m afraid.”

“No problem. Thanks for your time, Mr Louzado. I appreciate it.”

Making his way through the hospital, Jack had just made it to the carpark when his cell rang, the display showing an unfamiliar number.

“What?”

“Sir? I’m one of the techs searching Dr du Maurier’s home. We’ve umm … we’ve found something and I think you’re going to want to see it.”

“I’m on my way.” As he got into his car, Jack was reminded of Will’s words all those years ago. How the Chesapeake Ripper was Jack’s great white whale. He’d caught him once and then lost him, Jack would catch him again.

Even if it killed him.

 ~*~

The following afternoon found Jack sat in another waiting room in a different part of the hospital. In his hands, encased in an evidence bag that crinkled every time he fidgeted, was the item that the techs had found at the du Maurier home. There wasn’t necessarily anything special or remarkable about it to distinguish at first glance. It was simply a photo of three women who, upon close inspection, rather resembled Dr du Maurier, although their positioning was rather macabre. However, it was the back, with its handwritten message from Will that made it so important.

Jack had spent the whole night trying to make sense of it, wondering why the hell the two men had made a reappearance now. There was no-one that he could bounce ideas off, everyone who knew them except for Bedelia was scattered to the four winds. What Jack was certain of was that, at some point in the not so distant future, they would be coming for him. With Kade dead and Dr du Maurier maimed, there was no-one left here except for Price and Zeller and, in all honesty, Jack couldn’t see why they would be deemed worthy of attention. He looked up as a nurse appeared in the doorway.

“Agent Crawford? You can come and see Dr du Maurier now. She came round nicely from the anaesthetic and she seems to be doing far better than expected for someone who has gone through such a traumatic experience. We’ve got her on a lot of pain medication but she’s lucid. All I ask is that you let her rest if she starts to tire.”

“Of course. Thank you.” Jack waited until she had returned to her station before he steeled himself and opened the door.

As the nurse had said, Dr du Maurier looked exceptionally well for someone who had undergone such a traumatic event. In fact, her attitude reminded Jack of when he had interviewed her in Florence; everything about her seemed to scream resignation. It was almost as though she had expected something like this.

“Dr du Maurier. I’m sorry that we had to meet again under such circumstances. How are you feeling?”

“It’s Bedelia, please. And as well as can be expected given the circumstances, Agent.”

“Call me Jack. Do you feel able to answer some questions?”

“I shall endeavour to answer as many of your questions. In answer to your first, yes it was them.” Bedelia arched an eyebrow as Jack appeared surprised. “That was going to be your first question, was it not?”

“It was. You’re sure? It was definitely them.”

“Yes. It was Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham who broke into my home, amputated my left leg and served it to me as part of their twisted little dinner party.”

Jack winced at the detached way that she described what happened. “I’ll make a call, get some agents stationed at your door.”

“That won’t be necessary. They won’t be returning for me; they’ve made their point.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I know Hannibal Lecter, Agent Crawford. If Hannibal wanted me dead, I would never have left Florence. No, this was all down to your former pet. He was keeping a promise, reminding me of a past conversation.”

Jack forced himself to continue with his questioning, holding out the evidence bag, even as his mind screamed at him, struggling to process her words. “Does it have anything to do with this? We found it in your home and there’s a message from Will on the back.”

“What do you know of opera, Agent Crawford?”

“I know that Kade Prurnell was killed onstage at the Met during a performance of an opera called The Exterminating Angel not three days ago.”

Bedelia tapped the photo. “This is a scene from an opera by Bartók that is rarely performed in the States. The postmark on the envelope was from Hungary. If I were you, I would check Europe for their whereabouts following their confrontation with the dragon. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe I need to rest.”

“Of course, thank you for your help.”

Jack had just made it to the door when Bedelia’s voice rang out.

“Don’t bother hunting them, Agent Crawford. The Murder Husbands. They’ll come for you when they want to. When they’re ready.”

Jack didn’t respond. What response could he give? However, Bedelia’s words proved to be prophetic. He had just walked into his kitchen when his attention was drawn to the envelope on the counter propped up against a bottle of wine. There was no mistaking the familiar copperplate of Hannibal’s handwriting. Breaking protocol, Jack didn’t bother to grab a pair of gloves, completely disregarding all of his training as he tore open the envelope and pulled out the heavy cardstock within. The formal wording was almost identical to any number of dinner invitations over the year. Almost the same. There was one glaring difference that Jack latched onto.

_Dr Hannibal Lecter and his husband Mr Will Graham request the pleasure of your company for an evening at the opera._

Below it were the details about the date - two days from now, venue - Baltimore Opera House, and dress code - black tie - but Jack’s mind was still stuck on those two little words. His husband. He didn’t know if they were legally married or if they were just adopting it as a way to describe their relationship, but he was inclined to say it was the former; he couldn’t imagine either man using that turn of phrase lightly.

Basically, what it all boiled down to was the fact that he had two days to try and discover what they had been doing since they had killed Dolarhyde as well as prepare himself for the final confrontation. Because that’s what it would be. One way or another. Either for him, for them or for all three of them.

It would be the end.


	2. Fate your wishes does Allow

They weren’t supposed to survive the fall.

Will had had a plan of course but, in all honesty, he hadn’t envisaged using it. When he had pitched himself and Hannibal off the cliffs having killed Dolarhyde, he had assumed that their lifeless bodies would be fished out of the Atlantic and that would be the end of their story. He had never thought that his hurriedly-conceived and undoubtedly flawed escape plan would become reality. Then again, his brain had been a roiling mass of emotions and coherency hadn’t really been part of anything. All he had known was that, in the end, it was going to come down to Hannibal and himself.

What he hadn’t expected, but was grateful for, was the reappearance of Chiyoh during his planning. The last time he had physically seen her was when she had pushed him off the back of a train in Italy. However, he knew that she had been the one to shoot him in Florence and he had a feeling that she had been at Muskrat Farm though he hadn’t seen her. It had been Chiyoh who had dealt with the practicalities of his plan. Will had had the idea when Chiyoh told him where Hannibal would take them, but it had been Chiyoh who dealt with the minutiae. She had arranged the boat and stocked it with medical and food supplies as well as procuring any documents that they would need.

Will didn’t question how she got hold of it; he didn’t want to know. If they survived the encounter with Dolarhyde, then Chiyoh would deliver he and Hannibal to some location outside of the United States and leave them, her duty to Lady Murasaki and the Lecter family discharged. There was one thing that Will was completely adamant about however. If Chiyoh pulled them out of the water and they weren’t breathing, that was it. She wasn’t to attempt to resuscitate them, she was simply to throw them back into the water. Only if they were alive was to keep them aboard. Neither of them acknowledged the fact that, taking into consideration the height of the cliffs, death was the only truly likely ending for them. Will had been even more convinced of that given their injuries when he and Hannibal embraced, and he took them over the edge.

Yet, it would appear that death did not want them.

When he had broken the surface of the cold Atlantic waters, gasping for air, Will’s first thought had been whether he bothered trying to fight or if he just let the sea take them in her embrace and let Fate decide. And then he had heard a strangled gasp for air in his ear, felt Hannibal move and Will’s decision had been made for him. Despite his own exhaustion, Will had kept them afloat until Chiyoh arrived and dragged them aboard.

Chiyoh had done everything for the first day or so. It had been she who had stitched their wounds and made sure they imbibed fluids and rested while she steered the boat. On the second day, Will had taken over that task. He had been the least injured of the two of them and while his bruises ached bone-deep, his cheek just felt numb even if he could press his tongue to the line of stitches. It was certainly nothing to prevent him from manning a boat. From then on, Will and Chiyoh had shared tasks between them although it was she who looked after Hannibal.

Chiyoh may have done a good job at stitching him up but Hannibal had been shot in the stomach and that was before the fight with Dolarhyde and their plunge into the Atlantic, so it was hardly surprising when he took a fever and had to be hooked up to an IV. Will had found himself lingering at the cabin door or sat on his bunk watching Hannibal when Will was supposed to be sleeping himself, so unused to seeing Hannibal vulnerable like this. It was almost an alien concept. Unable to do anything else useful, Will had focused on keeping them on the course that Chiyoh had set, one that took them south.

Hannibal’s fever had broken on the fifth day, when Will had been at the helm and Chiyoh had been below decks. The first that Will had known of it had been when Chiyoh had appeared on deck with a set of co-ordinates and handed them to Will with just seven words.

“Our destination. He has a house there.”

Will had simply nodded and adjusted their course fractionally. He didn’t bother to ask where it was and Chiyoh didn’t volunteer the information. He knew that they were still sailing south but that was it. In truth, that was really all he needed to know.

Yet, even though Hannibal was awake, he was far from recovered. Three years in prison, the fight with Dolarhyde with its bullet to the stomach and then the ensuing fall had all played their part and sapped Hannibal’s strength. He spent most of his time sleeping or in quiet contemplation below decks. When he wasn’t sleeping, Hannibal took it upon himself to provide their food and, despite the moue of disgust on his lips when he saw the available supplies, his meals were still infinitely better than anything Will could have produced. Unsurprisingly.

They also still had yet to talk. Will had made attempts but Chiyoh was as uncommunicative as a brick wall and the normally loquacious Hannibal was equally as impenetrable. When you added Will’s ineptitude at small talk, well, it was a recipe for disaster. Hannibal had been awake for three days when he finally spoke to Will, eight days after Will had thrown them from the Baltimore cliffs. It was the middle of the night, both of them lying awake in the cabin. There was barely three feet between them, but the distance seemed unsurpassable to Will. Given Hannibal’s steady breathing, the man could have been asleep, but Will had the feeling that he wasn’t. More than anything, he wished for some whiskey to help him off to sleep but no such luck. And then he heard Hannibal’s voice.

“You could have let us drown but you didn’t.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I couldn’t. Because that wasn’t meant to be our ending.” It might not have been what Will had believed before, but it certainly was now. There was no reply from Hannibal.

Indeed, no more words were spoken between them until they arrived at their destination three days later.

Havana, Cuba.

It wasn’t somewhere that Will had ever visited nor somewhere that he had ever contemplated visiting, but he had no objections to it. Chiyoh took over the wheel and steered them expertly into a berth in a small marina before disappearing to take care of any necessary paperwork. Hannibal and Will collected their things in silence and waited for her return on the dock. She wasn’t gone long before she reappeared with some papers, which she handed to Hannibal. The two of them exchanged a flurry of rapid Japanese before Hannibal clasped Chiyoh’s shoulder and inclined his head in thanks. She retrieved her own bag from below decks before returning to dry land and nodding at Will.

“I wish you the best of luck in the future, Will Graham.”

“Thank you, Chiyoh. For everything.”

The words had barely left his lips before Chiyoh was on her way without looking back once.

“This way.”

Hannibal broke the silence as he turned and started to walk, not bothering to check if Will was following him. For his part, Will sent one final look in the opposite direction, to the rapidly disappearing form of Chiyoh, before he hurried after Hannibal.

It looked like their new life, such as it was, was going to begin in Havana.

~*~

Whatever Will had envisaged of their life in Cuba as they had sailed south – what he had envisioned of their life at all -, their current existence fell far short of his expectations. He wasn’t entirely sure what he had been imagining, what he wanted, but it certainly hadn’t been this horribly awkward co-existence, this dance that they were involved in. Will hated it. But what he hated even more was that he couldn’t help but compare this situation to when Hannibal went to Europe with Bedelia. He couldn’t stop his mind from working overtime, imagining what they had done, how they had lived. He knew that Hannibal had taken the life of Dr Fell but what had that entailed? Had they thrown dinner parties? Visited galleries and museums? Attended the opera? Had they also had this painfully polite co-habitation, or had they lived together as if they were truly man and wife? If it was the latter, then Will found himself jealous of something that resided in the past. Insanely jealous.

Will was no fool. It wasn’t as though he had thought that they would kill Dolarhyde and go after Bedelia together, that he and Hannibal would suddenly fall into some kind of ridiculous fantasy-esque happy ever after. No, that would have been completely ridiculous. Especially given the history between them. However, he had hoped for … well, more.

He had hoped that, after all of the years of manipulation and mind games – on both sides – that they would be able to put that aside and forge something new, something that they’d been striving for all along, even if they – he – hadn’t realised it.

The reality was far from that.

For the last six weeks, since they had arrived in Cuba, they had all but lived separate lives. They had gone from sharing a cabin aboard the boat to separate bedrooms and Will lamented the loss of closeness between the two of them. He missed Hannibal, pure and simple, regardless of how ridiculous that sounded given they lived together.

When he had lived with – married – Molly, it had taken him a long time to learn to live without Hannibal. Muskrat Farm had changed things. Europe had changed things. For months after Hannibal had surrendered himself and been incarcerated in the BSHCI, Will had found himself that he had to tell Hannibal something, reaching for the phone to call him. The temptation had been very real, and Will had battled for months until the urge lay dormant. And then the Great Red Dragon had awoken it just as quickly as it had disappeared, leaving Will with an ache that was as real and gut-wrenching as the scar Hannibal had left him with.

‘Can’t live with him, can’t live without him’, was what Bedelia had said when Will had seen her before putting the plan in motion to free Hannibal and catch Dolarhyde and she was right. Hannibal had gutted Will before killing Abigail and Will had still sailed the Atlantic after him. He had missed Hannibal for the duration of his marriage to Molly but living with Hannibal in this manner? It was torturous.

He didn’t even know what Hannibal did all day. All he knew was that it didn’t involve Will. He had been tempted more than once to follow Hannibal, to try and discover how he spent his time before dismissing the idea as ridiculous. This was Hannibal Lecter. Il Mostro. The Chesapeake Ripper. He had evaded capture for decades, only being caught when he had surrendered himself, turned himself in. If Will attempted to follow him, Will had no doubt that Hannibal would know almost immediately and then proceed to do something different just to be contrary because it was Hannibal and he could. So, instead, Will proceeded to conjure up increasingly elaborate mental pictures of Hannibal’s supposed life and torture himself in the process because he was Will Graham and he could.

Cuba had been Hannibal’s choice of destination, facilitated by the fact that Will could sail them there and that Hannibal already had property there. In truth, Will wasn’t surprised by the existence of the house – if anyone was going to have property around the world under a host of false identities then of course it was Hannibal – but more by the destination. If he thought about it, he would have been more inclined to have guessed Argentina or Bolivia for Hannibal’s chosen locale.

Not that Will really had any complaints. Why would he? This was Hannibal, the man who had managed a rather luxurious cell in the BSHCI until he had pissed Alana off. It figured that even his safe houses were luxurious by Will’s standards. Or by anyone’s standards really.

It wasn’t as big as Hannibal’s former home in Baltimore but still bigger than anywhere that Will had ever lived before. Havana was an eclectic mix of architecture; colonial buildings, some that were almost Moorish or baroque in design alongside art nouveau and art deco buildings in a strange combination that worked. Hannibal’s home was in the colonial style, a beautiful cream and white building with several balconies that wasn’t completely isolated but with ensured privacy behind its walls.

It may not be as large as Hannibal’s former residence, but it was still large enough that he and Will could co-exist whilst barely seeing each other. The only time that they were guaranteed to see each other was dinner, which Hannibal made, and which was accompanied by awkward small talk before they retreated to their own space. There was a study-like room which Hannibal had claimed along with a reception room that had become Will’s by default, a high-spec kitchen with adjoining dining room and outside terrace, then several bedrooms upstairs, two of them en-suite with another extra bathroom. Indeed, Will and Hannibal had ended up in bedrooms at the opposite ends of the upper-storey and, when his insomnia inevitably returned, Will found himself traversing the landing to hover outside of Hannibal’s bedroom, ears straining for any sound from within.

Will was very aware that many people would love to live somewhere like this but not him. Not like this. Even the most luxurious and spacious of safe-houses could feel like you were caged in a prison easily enough. And that was precisely what Will’s current residence felt like; a prison albeit a gilded one.

~*~

Yet again, this really wasn’t working as Will had hoped. He had suggested that he join Hannibal for the day in the hope that showing he wanted to spend time with Hannibal would ease the estrangement between them. Hannibal hadn’t reacted disfavourably when Will had suggested it over breakfast, merely stating that he needed to go to the market and that Will was, of course, free to join him if he wasn’t needed at the marina. But, instead of them actually spending time together, the reality was that Hannibal was simply going about as usual while Will followed behind like a recalcitrant child. Of course, that wasn’t helped by the disparity in their appearances. Will spent most of his time in shorts and t-shirts, but Hannibal still favoured his suave and sophisticated three-piece suits, his only concession to the heat being a change to something lighter in both fabric and colour to his previous wardrobe.

For the first time since their arrival in Cuba, Will allowed himself to listen to the little voice in the back of his head. The one that questioned if this was what Will wanted for the rest of his life. Could he really live like this? No interaction with Hannibal except for meals and, even then, he was greeted with polite indifference? Will had put up with a lot of things, but this was too much. Bedelia had said that Hannibal was in love with him and Will hadn’t doubted her at the time, but did that still apply? Did Will want to stay if Hannibal no longer loved him? As torturous as their current existence was, Will knew that he would not be able to control himself if Hannibal were to take a lover. Judging by the admiring, covetous and downright flirtatious glances that had been sent the man’s way during this brief sojourn, he would not be left wanting. And where would that leave Will?

Returning to America and Molly was hardly an option for him. Even if it was, he wasn’t sure that he would want to. Life with Hannibal may not be what Will had envisioned, but it was certainly what he wanted. If that wasn’t an option, then maybe Will would just have to strike out on his own. There was some money that Will had placed in various accounts after he went sailing after Hannibal all those years ago that he should be able to access. Not a lot but some. Maybe he could take himself off to some islands that didn’t have an extradition agreement with the States or set himself up with a false identity somewhere in the Caribbean and run boat tours. Adopt a load of dogs so he wasn’t completely lonely and then simply spend a miserable existence without Hannibal wondering what-if.

Will’s thoughts consumed him as he meandered after Hannibal, vaguely aware of Hannibal speaking to stall vendors in fluent Spanish as he procured the items that he desired. As Hannibal proceeded to indulge in an extended conversation with an elderly fruit-seller, Will turned his attention to the crowded streets around them as he attempted to quiet his thoughts. He had just nodded in greeting to who he thought was the wife of a co-worker when a familiar face appeared in his peripheral vision and Will froze. It was the work of less than a minute to put a name to the face and the instant that he did, Will’s heart sank.

Corey Olsen.

An FBI trainee who had been in several of Will’s classes at Quantico. Not one of the best students admittedly, but far from stupid. What was he doing in Havana? He would recognise both Will and Hannibal immediately and would have no compunction about giving them up. Will may not have bothered all that much about keeping up with the case on them, but he had no doubt that the FBI weren’t going to complain about them being brought in. The market may be bustling but the crowds weren’t going to hide them forever. As Corey continued to meander through the market, every step bringing him closer to discovering them, Will’s mind raced through the options of how to remain unseen, disregarding half a dozen and inventing four more.

And then, of course, Hannibal proceeded to finish his purchasing with the worst possible timing. In a blind panic, Will had done the only thing that he could think of and flung his arms around Hannibal, pulling him into a desperate kiss. Their first kiss. It took mere seconds for Will to regret it. It was probably the worst kiss that he had ever had – and judging by some that he had had as a teenager, that said a lot. Undoubtedly, the worst part of it that Hannibal didn’t respond. He just stood there, as still as a statue beneath Will’s lips, completely unaware that Will’s heart was shattering like the teacup that Hannibal had previously alluded to. The instant that Will was sure Corey had passed and they were out of immediate danger, he pulled back, palms clammy and feeling his anxiety mount by the second. He knew that he wasn’t going to be able to make full eye contact but, even so, Will darted his gaze up enough to see Hannibal’s impassive face.

“I assume that there was a reason for your actions just now?”

“FBI trainee. He was one of my students at Quantico and would have recognised us. I’ve no idea why he would be here.”

“I see. Is that him, the one who looks like a … what is it, a quarterback?”

“That’s him. Corey Olsen.”

“I see.”

They were Hannibal’s only words before he turned his attention to the next stall and its wares. Will felt his chest tighten, a lump swell in his throat and his eyes well with tears. He’d fucked it all up, completely and utterly. Instantaneously, Will was awash with the overwhelming wish that he had died when he had taken them over the cliffs. He couldn’t stay in Hannibal’s presence any longer; it was too painful. Not saying anything – Hannibal probably didn’t care what Will did, if he even noticed him gone – he brushed past Hannibal and walked off in the opposite direction to Corey, not caring where he went just as long as it was away from Hannibal.

(~*~)

It was an emotionally and physically exhausted Will that stumbled down for breakfast the following morning. After he had left Hannibal, Will had spent hours just wandering around aimlessly, his mind replaying everything – the kiss, Hannibal’s apathy – on a continuous loop. When he had finally returned home, he had avoided the study where Hannibal was still awake if the soft music and light spilling from beneath the closed door was anything to go by, and instead gone straight up to his bedroom.

Without allowing himself to think too much about it, Will had proceeded to pack a bag. It had quickly become apparent that he had very little in terms of personal possessions. He had left everything from his marriage and before behind when they had enacted their plan to catch Dolarhyde and almost everything he had gained since had been a gift from Hannibal. All too soon, Will’s life had been packed into an unassuming and depressingly small bag, waiting for whatever lay ahead of him. With that done, Will had given in to the urge that had been close to overwhelming him all day; he had crawled into bed and cried himself to sleep.

Thus, Will was both apprehensive and had red, swollen eyes as he made his way down to the kitchen. While he may have avoided Hannibal the previous evening, he knew that he couldn’t do so forever. Or at least until he knew what he was doing. As he moved into the kitchen, he gave a heavy sigh as he saw that Hannibal was as dressed down as he ever got in soft sweater and casual slacks. It was typical of the bastard; seeing Hannibal like this sorely tested Will’s resolve, particularly when he was being handed a cup of Hannibal’s perfectly made coffee. He should have just turned tail and run last night but that wasn’t his way of doing things. Will started as he realised that Hannibal had asked him something and Will was just stood there staring into space.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I asked if you would be amenable to accompanying me to the opera this evening? The Gran Teatro is mounting a production of Dido and Aeneas and I have managed to procure particularly good seats.”

Will blinked and then again for good measure. Was that it? Hannibal was just going to ask him to the opera? Will had kissed him, and Hannibal hadn’t responded yet twelve or so hours later, he was asking Will to go to the opera with him? Sometimes Will was convinced that he was never going to understand how Hannibal’s mind worked.

“I don’t really have any clothing suitable to wear…”

“That is not a problem. I will be able to procure something suitable for you. So?”

Will shrugged in answer to Hannibal’s raised eyebrow. “Sure, why not.”

“Excellent. I have some things to take care of after breakfast but perhaps we could meet at 5pm to change and have a light supper?”

“I’ll be here.” Will watched as Hannibal’s lips curved up ever so slightly as he set about preparing breakfast. He’d be here but he wasn’t entirely sure where here was; some weird alternate universe? That was the only possible explanation that he could think of.

Even though it wasn’t one of his usual days to be at work, Will meandered down to the marina after breakfast, knowing that hovering about the house all day was going to be no help to his brain at all. There, he happily took over some fiddly tasks with some broken engines that would keep him occupied until it was time to go home and would hopefully stop his brain from focusing too much on Hannibal. In the end though, he couldn’t avoid it any longer and returned home smelling of salt water and covered in engine oil. He could hear Hannibal in the kitchen and decided not to disturb him, going straight up to his room to shower.

Were it anyone other than Hannibal, Will would have been surprised by the suit that was hanging for him in his bedroom. He knew, even without trying it on, that it would fit perfectly and he tried not to think too hard as to how Hannibal had managed that. Will was also pretty certain that, when he went downstairs for the light supper that Hannibal was preparing, Hannibal would be in an almost identical suit just undoubtedly with a far more outrageous tie than the relatively modest one that had been left for Will.

He hadn’t been wrong. When Will had made it downstairs, freshly scrubbed and as presentable as he was going to get - although he’d defiantly left the tie draped around the coat-hanger - Hannibal had been pristine in a cream three-piece suit with a blue shirt and a paisley tie in shades of blue, purple and antique-gold. Supper had indeed been the light meal that Hannibal had implied but had, nevertheless, been delicious and any conversation had revolved around the food. As they had travelled to the Gran Teatro and joined the crowds milling around outside before going inside to the theatre in all of its red velvet and gilded glory, it struck Will that he was, to all intents and purposes, on a date for the first time in years.

A date with Hannibal Lecter no less. Il Mostro. The Chesapeake Ripper. Well, Will had never done things by halves, why start now?

Before he knew it, the end of the evening was nigh. It had been more pleasurable than Will had expected but he had been hyper-aware of his own lack of social skills the entire time. Hannibal had made no comment though and seemed happy enough. Aeneas had left Carthage and Dido had just sung her lament and stabbed herself in the stomach with Aeneas’ sword, collapsing on the pyre as she did so. Turning his head just enough that he could see Hannibal’s profile, Will could see the moisture in his eyes, the single tear slipping over a prominent cheekbone. The words slipped out before he could help them, loud enough that Hannibal could hear them but softly enough that he didn’t disturb the performance.

“I’m not throwing myself on a pyre for you; I already threw myself off a cliff. Is that not proof enough of my love?”

“Love? Is that what this is?”

Will couldn’t help but sigh at Hannibal’s words. Manipulation and mind-games, even now, after everything. He was sick of it. Enough was enough. It was time for Will to lay his cards on the table and see what the outcome was.

“It is for me.” Will started as Hannibal took his hand and, before his eyes, Hannibal’s posture seemed to change, relaxing as though a weight had been lifted from him. Will’s breath caught in his throat as Hannibal raised said hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to Will’s knuckles.

“As it is for me. Watch.”

Will turned to look at the stage as directed, just as Dido’s attendants opened up the tomb to place her body inside, only for them to stop and scream, disrupting the performance. In comparison, Will’s jaw dropped in amazement and no little wonder. Now, Hannibal’s choice of seats made sense; it gave them a perfect view into the tomb where the body of Corey Olsen lay surrounded by flowers. How had he pulled this off in just a fraction over twenty-four hours? Will let his eyes rove over the display, taking in the flowers, their meaning. How had Hannibal managed to get them together?

Gladioli. Asparagus fern. Calla lilies. Peach blossoms and tube roses. Nasturtiums. Red tulips. Heliotrope. Mauve roses. Dahlias and violets in blue and white. Iris and strands of ivy.

All of it spelling out the depth and multitude of Hannibal’s feelings for those who could understand and read the language. Will turned his head and saw that Hannibal was close enough that mere inches separated them, a wealth of emotion visible in Hannibal’s moisture-filled eyes. Had Will been mistaken yesterday? Had Hannibal not been disgusted by Will’s kiss? Will felt as though he could barely breathe as Hannibal closed the gap between them, pressing his lips to Will’s.

It felt as though Will’s senses were going haywire. This was what he had wanted from their first kiss. Physically, it was nothing more than the barest brush of dry lips but emotionally, it was so much more than that. It was a culmination, finally. He could taste salt on his lips but he didn't know which one of them was crying until he pulled back and saw the damp trails on Hannibal's cheeks but then he felt thumbs sweeping under his eyes and realised that he wasn't the only one who had lost his battle with emotions. Will watched Hannibal’s face avidly as one of his hands moved back to rake through Will’s curls, whispering one word.

_“Mylimasis.”_

As the heavy red velvet safety curtain swept closed, hiding the body from sight, so too did Will’s eyelids. A soft moan left his lips as they met with Hannibal’s for the third time ever. The passion and the heat was undeniably there, but it was banked. Will could sense Hannibal’s desire but it was tightly leashed, kept firmly under control. Will whined low in his throat as he felt Hannibal’s tongue lap at the seam of his lips, pressing inside insistently, parrying with Will’s own.

As he fought the urge to climb into Hannibal’s lap, Will forced his eyes open to see that the front of house staff were evacuating the audience and, presumably, the police would be arriving in the not too distant future. Having no intention whatsoever of getting caught now, he forcibly removed himself from Hannibal’s embrace.

“We need to leave. Take me home, Hannibal.”

Will watched Hannibal scan the activity around them before he stood and held out a hand for Will. “As you wish.”

Will didn’t remember much of the journey home from the Gran Teatro. It seemed as though one minute they were slipping through the crowds, avoiding the arriving police as they did so, and then the next, they were stumbling up the stairs in the direction of Hannibal’s bedroom, leaving a trail of clothing behind them.

Yet, despite the banked passion and the desire that had been buried for years, when they finally tumbled naked onto Hannibal’s rather ostentatious bed, things took a rather different turn. Rather than being quick and heat of the moment, everything turned slower, more sensual. There were kisses pressed to every inch of exposed flesh as whatever clothing remained was removed at a maddeningly slow pace.

Will felt a kiss pressed to the jut of an ankle bone, to a protruding hip bone and the skin above his heart as Hannibal prepared him with a container of lubricant that had appeared out of nowhere. Will writhed on sheets with the highest thread count Will had ever heard of as Hannibal used his anatomical knowledge to drive Will almost mindless with pleasure, scissoring inside of Will and grazing unerringly across his prostate. Will rode back against those long fingers, chasing his pleasure before Hannibal removed his fingers, not caring about Will’s whine of disappointment.

And then, he felt Hannibal’s cock at his entrance. It had been a long time since Will had slept with a man - since he had been in college - and none of them had been as well-endowed as Hannibal. Even so, Will couldn’t wait forever and, when he felt as though Hannibal was taking too long, he pressed down, taking the head of Hannibal’s cock inside him. He had to pause for several long seconds to adjust to Hannibal’s girth but, as soon as he felt able, he wound his legs around Hannibal’s hips and pressed down, sheathing as much of Hannibal’s cock inside him as possible.

It left a delicious burn that Will relished, even as he spread his thighs in an attempt to lessen it. Hannibal’s cock filled him to the brim and Will felt complete in a way that he never had during sex before. And then Hannibal started to move. He may have been moving slowly but that didn’t mean that he was holding back. Every single thrust, he withdrew to the tip and then slammed in balls deep, raking over Will’s prostate with every movement. Will thought about reaching for his cock but, given how close his thighs kept Hannibal, it wasn’t possible. Instead, Will’s cock got the necessary friction from where Hannibal's stomach rubbed over it.

All too soon, Will was coming with a scream, convulsing around Hannibal’s cock, spreading his seed between them. Hannibal gave three more deep thrusts before he was coming deep within Will with a shout of “Maniškis”. Will was ever so slightly aware of Hannibal cleaning them up before he bundled them up in the sheets, wrapping Will in his embrace as he did so. The last thing that Will was aware of before he slipped into the most satisfying sleep for years, was Hannibal wrapping himself around Will, whispering something in a foreign language as he did.

Yes, Will could get used to this.

(~*~)

The following morning, Will awoke in an unfamiliar bed feeling pleasantly sore and distressingly alone. There was no sign of Hannibal in the bedroom, no sounds from the adjoining en-suite and the sheets were cool to the touch. For a brief moment, he panicked, the rollercoaster of emotions that he'd been on over the last few months making him question if he had imagined the previous evening. And then he had the distinct sensation that he was being watched. A glance at the door confirmed his suspicions, Hannibal stood there with a soft look on his face that Will could only describe as besotted, something that caused Will's chest to tighten and his cheeks heat up. In an attempt to distract himself, Will focused on Hannibal and what he was wearing. He looked good, far too good for not having been awake long. Hannibal always looked good, if not overdressed in his suits, but Will could get used to him looking like this; all casual with strands of hair falling across his forehead and in his eyes, clad in silk pyjama pants and a thin sweater that looked ridiculously soft and was probably cashmere or something else that cost more than Will's old monthly food bill.

Unable to resist, Will slid out of bed, unabashedly naked and padded across the room, relishing the way that Hannibal watched his approach. They may have only had one night as lovers so far but no-one had ever made Will feel like Hannibal did and could, for better or for worse.

“I had hoped to find you still in bed when I woke up this morning.” Will pressed a soft kiss to Hannibal's mouth before nipping at his lip in reproach.

“I considered it but took the liberty of making us breakfast instead…”

Will arched an eyebrow, “protein scramble?”

“Devilled kidneys.”

Hannibal didn't explicitly say that Corey was the source of their breakfast but he didn't have to. Will had spent twelve weeks dining at his table and knowing precisely where the meat had come from before it had all gone so wrong and he knew that Hannibal wouldn't turn down the opportunity. He'd see it as something symbolic and, in truth, so did Will. It was symbolic. How could it not be? Hannibal had killed Corey to protect them, just as Will had tried to do, just without the murder and somewhat ineptly.

Will finally had what he wanted. They both did and Will couldn't wait for what lay ahead. In the meantime, he was happy to take it one step at a time and start with breakfast.

“Sounds delicious.”

~*~

Will couldn’t help but smile at the sensation of Hannibal’s chest hair under his cheek and gave in to the urge to just stay there. Sunlight was flooding through the shutters if the brightness behind his eyelids was anything to go by, but Will didn’t care what time it was. He was comfortable – Hannibal being a surprisingly comfortable pillow – and the sensation of Hannibal’s fingers carding through his hair was inordinately soothing. There was no doubt that Hannibal knew he was awake but if Hannibal wasn’t going to say anything then Will was going to keep up the pretence. Especially if It meant more being in physical contact with Hannibal. Will was very aware that any psychiatrist – even a trainee one – would say that was because he was touch-starved, and Will would be inclined to agree with them, so he saw no reason to deprive himself.

It had been three weeks since the events at the Gran Teatro de la Habana. Three weeks since Hannibal had dealt with the FBI trainee who could so easily have ended their life together. Since they had both finally admitted their feelings for each other. Three weeks since they had settled into the life that Will had always envisioned should they run away together.

He now knew what Hannibal did with his day because they spent it together most of the time. Will still worked down at the marina but had cut down his days to three a week, spending the rest of the time with Hannibal. Besides, it wasn’t as though they needed the money. Hannibal had seemingly endless resources and they had the money that Will had stashed away and had considered using when he had thought he might have to leave Hannibal and start anew. Besides, giving the cost of living in Cuba – even when you lived with Hannibal Lecter – Will’s wages went a fair way.

Even when Will was at work, Hannibal would inevitably wind his way down to the marina at some point or other. What he did differed depending on his mood, but he always brought food with him, the only difference being that it was now in a rather charming wicker basket as opposed to the previous upmarket Tupperware. Some days Hannibal would sit and read on his tablet, others he would set up an easel and draw, whilst on others he was utterly shameless about the fact that he came for no other reason than to watch Will. The other marina workers found it hilarious and teased Will mercilessly, but he bore it without comment. After all, he finally had Hannibal and that was a gift worth any amount of teasing.

On days that Will wasn’t working, he accompanied Hannibal as he went around Havana. Unsurprisingly, Hannibal had lived a life of leisure since their arrival and honestly, Will didn’t blame him. Will hadn’t been imprisoned for nearly as long as Hannibal, yet the urge to be outdoors had been all but overwhelming. When he had finally been released, he had spent as much time outside with his dogs as possible, so it made sense that Hannibal wanted to do precisely that in the Cuban sunshine. Just without the dogs.

Visiting markets tended to be their go to activity. And, to Will’s relief, they never had the same problem as that first trip. Instead, they strolled through the streets hand-in-hand, occasionally stealing kisses when they felt like it. Obviously, Hannibal being Hannibal, the food markets were the ones that they frequented the most. Will had provided the fish that they ate either from his own fishing excursions or from his contacts at the marina, but Hannibal had been responsible for everything else and Will wasn’t entirely surprised when he discovered that Hannibal was purchasing more than a few ingredients on the black market of Havana.

What he was surprised by was the fact that he managed to get Hannibal Lecter, famed gourmand whose dinner parties had been the stuff of legends in Baltimore, to eat street food. Will was no stranger to it, having eaten plenty during his childhood growing up in Louisiana but he had never expected to see Hannibal eating pan con lechon bought from a street vendor and having to lick the grease from his lips. Or the tempting sight of Hannibal with powdered sugar clinging to his top lip after agreeing to a mouthful of Will’s churros. A temptation that Will was unable to resist kissing away. What he did expect was the moue of disgust that Hannibal made upon consuming them, something which disappeared the instant he heard Will’s laugh.

It wasn’t just food markets that they visited though. A favourite haunt of theirs was the second-hand book market located at Plaza de Armas in Havana’s Old Town. They would make a weekly trip to browse through the offerings before returning home with their gains, spending their evenings in peace reading with a glass of wine in hand and listening to whatever classical music Hannibal had selected. Most of the time it was Bach but there was a fair amount of opera and the first time that the first strains of Dido’s Lament had threaded through the air, Will had left Hannibal speechless with his expert blowjob.

What Will had found was that, even after all this time, Hannibal was still able to surprise him. And in a way that involved no bloodshed. It had been a beautiful morning, one that started with a protein scramble and coffee sat on the terrace before Hannibal had said that he had a surprise for Will. Will had waited in a mix of anticipation and trepidation; after all, this was Hannibal and a surprise could mean anything. What he hadn’t expected was for Hannibal to turn up sitting astride a classic motorbike yet still wearing his beige three-piece suit. Will had needed no encouragement to join him, pressing up as close to Hannibal’s back as was feasibly possible and wrapping his arms around Hannibal’s waist, unable to resist slipping his fingers through the gap in between buttons to make skin to skin contact.

It was exhilarating, driving down the coast roads, feeling the wind in his hair and Hannibal in his arms. The helmets that they wore were as old-fashioned as the bike itself which meant that Will was able to bury his face in Hannibal’s back and take in that scent that was purely Hannibal, unencumbered by a visor. Of course, given that this was Hannibal, he had packed a selection of items for lunch as well as a bottle of wine in the saddlebags of the bike, which they ate in a deserted cove along the route. Lunch had turned into Will showing his appreciation for the day’s activities that Hannibal had planned, which led to an uncomfortable combination of sand and semen beneath their clothes for the return journey.

Nevertheless, Will requested that the motorbike rides became a weekly recurrence.

And then there was the dancing.

_***FLASHBACK***_

“Dancing? You want us to go dancing?” Will was well aware of the irony that he was finding it harder to wrap his brain around the fact that Hannibal wanted them to go dancing than it had been to conceive that Hannibal had killed Corey Olsen and managed to hide his body in an on-stage prop.

“That is what I said. Is it such an inconceivable idea?”

“Maybe? It’s not something that I’ve ever done before. I’m not Bedelia.”

“I am well aware of that and am infinitely grateful. You are far more preferable to her.”

Will bit back the urge to make a sarcastic comment, loathe to disrupt the tenuous domestic bliss that they were currently floating in. Instead, he forced himself to think about the prospect of dancing with Hannibal and if it was really as awful as he was predicting.

In all honesty, it probably wasn’t, and Will could think of far worse things than spending the evening in Hannibal’s arms. Will couldn’t legitimately describe himself as touch-starved any more, given not only the amount of sex they were having but also the evenings spent in comfortable silence, sometimes listening to music, often with Will’s head in Hannibal’s lap as they read, or Hannibal sketched. So, Will might not be touch-starved any longer but quite the opposite. Instead, he craved it. He had gone for so long without the touch of a friend or a lover that, now he had it, he couldn’t get enough. Then again, neither would it seem, could Hannibal.

There were two main problems that Will could foresee. Firstly, he wasn’t going to want to share Hannibal with anybody else (and Will wasn’t going to dance with anyone but Hannibal) and secondly, Will wasn’t completely certain that he _could_ dance. Admittedly, he’d never tried but, then again, he’d never really wanted to. And then, Hannibal spoke like the freaky mind-reader that he was.

“We will not dance with anyone but each other and I shall teach you all that you need to know.”

Will still wasn’t convinced but Hannibal had always been a very sociable man and Will wanted to give him this at least. “Okay, I’ll give it a go. But, if I hate it, then you’re going by yourself next time.”

“You won’t hate it.”

Will had made a noncommittal hum in response and left things at that. Several hours later, and much to his chagrin, Will was forced to admit that Hannibal was right; he didn’t hate it. That wasn’t to say that he loved it either; it was more like ambivalence. He had allowed Hannibal to choose his clothing and had to bite back his arousal at seeing Hannibal without his jacket, shirt-sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms, the sight making Will want to salivate. Seriously, just watching Hannibal at work in his kitchen, forearms on display with veins and muscles clearly defined from time to time, was better than some porn Will had watched.

As for the actual dancing, well, that hadn’t been as bad as Will feared either. The club that Hannibal had chosen – 1830 – was busy but not totally crowded and, as he had promised, Hannibal had not left Will’s side. That was good because Will was lowkey panicking at seeing the moves on display from the other dancers; did hips actually move like that because Will was 90% certain that his didn’t and some of those arm movements seemed unnecessarily complicated. Of course, because Hannibal was Hannibal, he was apparently an expert salsa dancer. Will had to swallow heavily several times at seeing those hips move in that enticing way.

An enticing way that Will was entirely incapable of imitating. It felt as though he was completely devoid of rhythm, he found even attempting to complete the simplest of step combinations left him feeling like a klutz and after several people had to dodge his flailing arms, he stopped trying. Of course, Hannibal - who was probably more used to waltzing or something equally ostentatious - still managed to look both elegant and smoking hot, the bastard.

“Still think I’m preferable to Bedelia?” Will couldn’t resist asking as he stood on Hannibal’s foot for what was probably the tenth time in the same timeframe.

Will froze as Hannibal stopped and forced eye contact between them, something that he rarely did, always happy to defer to Will's comfort. “What will it take for me to make you comprehend that there was never any competition. You will always be preferable to her and I would have your company above all others.”

“Well, forgive me for not quite grasping that given you tried to kill me, let my brain boil in my skull for fun and got me put in prison.”

“Says the man who tried to kill me in return. And you weren’t the only one who was incarcerated.”

Will grinned. “Touché. Even so, your feet must hate me right now.”

“Maybe a change in teaching method is all that is necessary. May I?”

Will had to bite back a moan as Hannibal wrapped an arm around Will's waist, bringing them into body contact from chest to thighs. At Hannibal's encouragement, Will placed his left hand on Hannibal's shoulder as Hannibal took his right. It was easier to follow the steps like this, so simple to just close his eyes and trust Hannibal to guide him. However, it raised another problem, one that came from being in such close proximity to Hannibal.

Arousal.

He could feel the strength in Hannibal's arms and chest as he was guided through the steps, feel the heat of his body, the slightly soft stomach that Will loved so much, that scent that was quintessentially Hannibal. All of it amounted to Will getting hard, his cock pressing uncomfortably against the fitted trousers Hannibal had selected for him. In an attempt to hide it, Will tried to move his hips back, putting some space between them but, all it did was gain Hannibal's attention.

“Will? Is there a problem?”

Will considered not saying anything, but this was Hannibal with his hyper-attuned olfactory sense and he could probably smell Will's arousal despite all of the other scents permeating the air. Honesty was probably the best policy.

“Yes, but it’s nothing that a different kind of dancing back at home won’t solve, if you know what I mean.” Will watched as Hannibal's nostrils flared and that predatory look he loved appeared in his eyes and his smile revealed a flash of the fangs that felt so good scraping against Will's sensitive skin.

"Then let us depart."

_***END FLASHBACK***_

Will finally gave up his pretence of still being asleep when he felt Hannibal tense beneath him. He had felt Hannibal reach for something earlier, probably his tablet, and now Hannibal had clearly read something that displeased him. More than a little reluctantly, Will stretched and pressed a kiss to Hannibal’s chest before he moved himself to where Hannibal had propped himself up on the pillows and was frowning at the screen of his tablet.

“What’s got you pissed off this early in the morning?”

“It’s eleven am, Will. Hardly early.”

“Yet you haven’t moved so you clearly don’t object too much to still being in bed. What is it?”

“I keep track of certain people for various … reasons and received a notification regarding one of them this morning. What do you know of Frederick’s fate at the hands of Mr Dolarhyde?”

“Frederick? Dr Chilton? Well, he didn’t come out of it all that well but still better than some. Alana and I visited him in hospital where he proceeded to blame his situation upon us. It wasn’t just Dolarhyde though. Chilton lost his lips and was set on fire by the Dragon, but he’d already lost his left eye and had his cheekbone and jaw shattered by Miriam Lass’ bullet. Why do you ask?”

“It would appear that Frederick was unhappy with the results his medical treatment in the US gave him so sought other options abroad and settled upon Germany. However, those options don’t come cheap and he has decided to fund his venture by writing a book.”

“Hasn’t he tried that already? With a book about you?”

“He tried. I refuted the content and ruined his chances of publication, at least with a reputable publisher. Unfortunately, I couldn't stop him going ahead with a publishing house with lower standards.”

“So why not do the same this time?” When Will’s question went unanswered, he looked at Hannibal and arched an eyebrow. “Hannibal? What’s so different about this book?”

“I am no longer the sole subject matter. Frederick has also decided to target you.”

Will considered arguing that he wasn’t worth this reaction but thought better of it given their history. “What are you thinking?”

“How do you feel about a trip to Germany?”

Will took his time before responding, knowing what Hannibal really meant by his words. He intended to go to Germany to kill Frederick Chilton. It wasn’t a mere sightseeing trip. In truth, deep down, Will had no real problem with that fact. He didn’t think that the world would be worse off if it lacked one Frederick Chilton. What he had to decide was how involved he wanted to be in ensuring that Chilton no longer counted among the living, for that was what Hannibal clearly intended. Will had not been involved in the death or the display of Corey, the FBI trainee, he hadn’t killed since he and Hannibal had destroyed the Great Red Dragon. However, just because he hadn’t killed didn’t mean that he didn’t want to.

The urge was there. Lurking beneath his skin, waiting to burst forth. Killing the Dragon had not slaked his thirst for blood, merely stoked the flames. He knew what Hannibal wanted. The man may not have been able to stand Freddie Lounds, but Will had no doubt that Hannibal would have fallen in love with the ‘murder husbands’ tag that she had dubbed them with. Hannibal wanted them to kill together, no doubt about it, and, in truth, that was also what Will wanted. He hadn’t lied; it was beautiful, and Will wanted it so badly that it ached.

“Until we came here, I’d never left the States.” Will watched as Hannibal’s eyes all but blazed in triumph as he understood what Will was saying but not verbalising.

“Then allow me to be your guide.”

“Just in this?”

“In everything, mylimasis.”

“Yes.” The word had barely left Will’s lips before he was on his back, Hannibal’s body blanketing his as Hannibal all but kissed the breath from Will’s lungs, Wil responding just as hungrily.

It looked like they were going to Germany.


	3. Bringt mir was wünsche ich denn?

It had only been a few weeks but, already, the start of their new life in Germany was very different to how their life in Cuba had started. For one thing, as far as Germany was concerned, they were married. Dr Hans and Wilhelm Fischer, married for just over a year, were the newest residents of Dresden.

They had spent the last six weeks of their time in Havana planning their move to Europe. Hannibal had taken responsibility for creating their new identities while Will had taken it upon himself to sell the boat that had brought them from Baltimore. They would have no need of it in Germany and, whilst Will had enjoyed having one again (and the opportunity to sail it regularly), he knew that there would be further opportunities in the future. Whilst owning a boat was beyond the means of a lot of Cubans, Will had managed to find a buyer amongst some of the expatriates.

With that done, Will had turned his attention to packing up their things. They wouldn’t be able to take everything with them, but Will had baulked at the idea of leaving everything behind and buying it all again, particularly as they didn’t know how long they would be staying in Germany. They were going to deal with Frederick, who knew if they would actually stay there once their intended task was complete. Will liked the idea of settling down somewhere with Hannibal eventually but doing so in the vicinity where they had killed someone – especially someone that they had so much history with – was not a good idea.

They were maybe three weeks away from their departure date when it had struck Will that Hannibal had done this – created a whole new persona, a new life – before and not just once but several times. Hannibal had not only created new identities and histories for them and booked the flights for Dresden, but he had found himself a job at the University Hospital Carl Gustav Carus and had now just blindsided Will with the information that he had sold the house in Cuba and would Will like to see the property he had found in their new city.

“How many times have you done this? Created a new life, a completely different existence for yourself? This can’t be the first time…”

“In some respects, no. In others, yes, it is the first time I have created a new existence for myself.”

“What about with…”

“With Bedelia, it was simply a matter of taking over the life of somebody else. Of Dr Roman Fell and his wife. I disposed of the good doctor and his wife in Paris under another identity before we appropriated their life in Florence.”

“What do you think people believed happened to him? I mean, after…”

“I believe that people probably think he just disappeared. Mason’s hired thugs are dead, as is Inspector Pazzi so, unless he told people of his suspicions, nobody would think to connect the scholarly Dr Fell with the Chesapeake Ripper. Perhaps it is an identity that could still be used.”

“Would you want to use him again?”

“I would like to show you the Florence I fell in love with as a young man. I would like to visit Florence with you at my side. As it should have been. As I wanted it to be.”

“You say that as though you were the only one who wanted that. You weren’t. I wanted it too. I wanted to leave with you.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Because it wasn’t possible. You said that we were just alike, that I could deceive you, just as you could deceive me. Jack believed that I was baiting you but he brought in Bedelia as well. He had her granted immunity from prosecution, as long as she gave the FBI insights on her sessions with you. She said that what you did wasn’t coercion but persuasion. It was mind games and manipulation from both of us. You were just better at it than I was.

Or maybe Jack was better than both of us. You both thought that I was your man but, in truth, I didn’t really know which of you I belonged to. I got the call from Alana to say that they knew as they were pulling up my drive to arrest me. It was too late for anything else. I made the call to you from the woods, and as soon as I heard your voice, I knew who I belonged to. I knew what had to be done. I told you to leave and I intended to leave after you, hoped to find you but you didn’t leave like you were supposed to. And well…

Look. You didn’t want me to have anyone in my life that wasn’t you; I acknowledged that we were both alone without each other. That isn’t the case anymore. We’re together and I don’t have anyone in my life that isn’t you. It might have been several years later than intended but it can happen. We can go to Florence. It won’t be the same as it would have been but that doesn’t mean it will be worse.”

Will looked up at Hannibal, looking up through his eyelashes as he fought to keep his voice steady. “I need to know before I get even deeper in this. Are you always going to hold that against me? Because I can’t take that. I can’t do this between us if I know that you could end it all on a whim. If that’s the case then you should have let me leave in Cuba.”

Hannibal’s hand cupped Will’s face and Will couldn’t help but nuzzle into it.

“It is forgiven, forgotten.”

“Promise?” 

“I promise.”

The kiss that followed was soft and gentle, a physical reiteration of the words that Hannibal had uttered and Will just hoped that, for once, Hannibal wasn’t playing with him. That they had indeed moved beyond that. 

(~*~)

“How are you enjoying Dresden, Mr Fischer?”

Will took a large swallow of his wine as he sent a look down the table to Hannibal. They were hosting a dinner party for four of Hannibal’s colleagues and their partners and it had taken Hannibal several excellent blowjobs and the promise of the necessary licence and permit to go fishing on the Elbe to convince Will that it wasn’t a terrible idea. So far, it hadn’t been totally appalling but, even so, Will wasn’t in a hurry to socialise with anyone that wasn’t Hannibal. Still, he was aware that he had to play nice and so he plastered a smile on his face as he turned to the woman who had asked the question, Monika Henemann, wife to Dr Sabine Henemann, the anaesthesiologist that worked with Hannibal.

“Please, call me Will. And I’m enjoying it, especially the food and the beer.”

“Where was it that you lived before? I know Sabine told me, but I don’t remember…”

“Havana, Cuba.”

“Rather different then.”

“Yes, but both with their own appeal.”

“True. Sabine and I have never made it that far on our travels; there is so much to see in Europe. And in our wonderful city as well. Have you made it to the opera yet?”

“No, but I have heard good things.”

“Yes, the performances are excellent and the theatre itself is a work of art. Are you a fan of the opera?”

“Something of a recent convert.” Will hid his smile in his wine glass. “Hans has always been a fan but he’s recently brought me around to seeing the delights. I believe he’s purchased us tickets to see Salome.”

“Ah yes, I haven’t seen that one but Ahmed and Safiya have, and they only had good things to say. Do you have a favourite work?”

“I haven’t seen or heard enough to have a preference yet, but I believe that Dido and Aeneas will always hold a special place in my heart.” Will looked at Hannibal as he spoke and, even though they were at opposite ends of the table with their guests in between, he knew that Hannibal had heard him.

“Perhaps we could all go to a performance together. Or persuade you and your husband to host another dinner party. This food is out of this world, I’ve never tasted anything like it.”

Will had to take another sip of wine to hide his smile. There was a very good reason that Mrs Monika Henemann had never tasted anything like it before and that was because Will was completely certain she had never eaten at a cannibal’s table before. He and Hannibal had had a very long conversation about the protein that they were going to serve when Hannibal had broached the possibility of throwing a dinner party for his colleagues. Hannibal – obviously – wanted to serve his creations with his preferred meat as an ingredient and Will … found that he wasn’t averse to that, merely concerned that they not get caught before they had the chance to achieve their objective to being in Dresden. Hannibal, with all of the confidence of a man who had been killing for decades, assured Will that it wouldn’t be an issue, but if Will was truly concerned then they could always kill elsewhere.

In the end, that had been what they had done.

They had made the hour’s drive south-west to Freiberg where they had found a long pig that fit both Hannibal’s criteria of being rude and Will’s of just being a generally terrible human being. And yes, Will was well-aware of the irony in that.

He let Hannibal take the lead; this was not something that Will had done before. He had either killed by proxy or in the heat of the moment. Dolarhyde had been an exception to the rule in that it had sort of been pre-meditated but equally not. This was entirely premeditated. They had lured their victim - a particularly obnoxious and entitled student at the university who was both misogynistic and xenophobic - into a secluded area where nobody would disturb them. Hannibal, finally recovered and having regained his strength, had overpowered him while Will had used the scalpel, wielding it as Hannibal instructed.

It wasn’t the same as killing Hobbs or Randall or even Dolarhyde but it was intoxicating nonetheless and Will could understand why Hannibal had been killing for so many years. It was addictive, that feeling of power over life and death, that you were ridding the world of a terrible person and Will knew that now he’d taken that step over the edge, he wouldn't be able to stop. Just like Hannibal. They really were a perfect match for each other.

There was also that feeling of intimacy, of being close to Hannibal. With the rapidly cooling corpse of their pig in front of them, Will had let Hannibal instruct him, guiding his hands as he harvested the cuts that Hannibal wanted for his recipes. It was educational and there was an element of enjoyment to it but it was very much secondary to Will; it wasn’t the same as the rush that he got from the kill. He had no objections to the harvesting or even eating the gathered meat and organs but he was happy to leave that part to Hannibal.

With all of the organs and cuts that Hannibal wanted collected, they had packed them into coolers and disposed of what remained of the body before they made the journey back to Dresden. They had a dinner party to prepare for.

Having not been to one of Hannibal’s dinner parties in Baltimore, always avoiding them like the plague, Will couldn’t help but wonder if this was how Hannibal felt. This smug self-satisfaction that their guests had no idea that the food they were raving over, that they couldn’t get enough of, was human meat. The knowledge that the assembled guests were eating the rude, a long pig that Will and Hannibal had caught, killed and butchered together.

“I can’t take much of the credit; Hans is the one who does all of the cooking. He’s something of a gourmand while the only thing I’m capable of making well is coffee. My husband has me rather spoiled, I’m afraid.”

Monika laughed but there had been some truth to Will’s words. He was afraid; of how much he liked referring to Hannibal as his husband. It wasn’t really something that he had consciously done prior to this evening, but it had been easy to become accustomed to, the words simply tripping off his tongue. Judging by the look on Hannibal’s face every time he said it, a softness that Will was seeing more and more frequently, he had become equally accustomed to it. Will had further proof of that when, having followed Hannibal into the kitchen to “help” make coffee, he found himself pressed into the kitchen counter, heated kisses being pressed to his jawline as Hannibal spoke.

“I would spoil you forever if you would but let me, _husband._ ”

Will had had to bite back the moan that threatened to escape from his throat at the sheer possessiveness in Hannibal’s voice, his knees going embarrassingly weak as Hannibal sucked a passionate kiss to the pulse point in Will’s neck.

Oh yeah, he was so gone. 

~*~

Dinner parties aside, they had come to Dresden for a purpose and, whilst said dinner party had worked wonders at ingratiating Hannibal with his new colleagues – several of whom had been part of the team that worked on Chilton – the man himself was still infuriatingly alive and touting his book on both Hannibal and Will around various publishers. So, while Hannibal worked and started stealing supplies that they might need, Will took on the job of watching Chilton, learning his daily routine and analysing it for when they finally made their move. Will had just about got a handle on Frederick’s routine (nothing remotely exciting about it in the slightest) when the time came for he and Hannibal to attend the latest production of Strauss’ Salome at the Semperoper Dresden.

In truth, Will wasn’t really looking forward to it. He might have loved Dido and Aeneas in the end but was that because of the opera or because of all of the other things surrounding it? Will was inclined to say the latter. Still, he knew that Hannibal had been a regular visitor to the opera in Baltimore and he had been assured that not only was this particular opera only one act but that they had seats that would guarantee they did not need to interact with anybody. And so, Will had allowed Hannibal to truss him up like a penguin and trundle him off to the opera.

In the end, Will didn’t totally hate it. He didn’t think that he was ever going to be a complete opera aficionado but if he didn’t focus on how pretentious he found it and if he just let his mind drift, he found that he rather enjoyed it. There were certainly worse ways to spend his time. As for Salome, it not only went quicker than he was expecting but it proved to be inspirational in a way that Will had never expected. He knew the story, most people did; Salome, the step-daughter of Herod, who having danced for him and been promised whatever she wanted, demanded the head of John the Baptist.

As he watched, Will couldn’t help but compare it to Dido and the gift that Hannibal had given him in the form of Corey Olsen’s corpse onstage bedecked with flowers. There simply wasn’t the same opportunity here as over 90% of the action occurred onstage but, as the severed head of Jochanaan was brought on stage – the actual death having happened behind the scenes – an idea struck Will that grew in appeal the more he thought about it. Chilton had always been a pretentious prick, so this was really the most fitting end for him in Will’s opinion. He certainly didn’t want to eat any of him.

Will decided to wait before he brought up his idea with Hannibal. They had opted to walk home from the opera house and it amused Will that, outwardly at least, they looked no different to any other couple as they strolled along hand in hand. When the number of pedestrians around them thinned out and they were no longer in danger of being heard, Will broached the subject. 

“Did you have a specific plan of how to deal with Frederick?”

“Not particularly, although I know that I do not intend to harvest or ingest any of him. There is no way of knowing enough about the origin of his grafts and he will have been pumped full of so many drugs that any flavour there would have been will be totally obscured. So, no, I had not given much thought to it beyond the pleasure it would bring knowing that he no longer exists to irritate us. I’m open to suggestions if you had any thoughts?”

“What about something like you did with Corey? Make him into something, make him part of the art.” Will swallowed heavily at the look Hannibal bestowed upon him, one that looked like Hannibal wanted to devour him whole.

“Which something did you have in mind?”

“The head of Jochanaan.”

Will let out a gasp as Hannibal all but body slammed him into the nearest wall, all but purring “Clever boy,” into Will’s throat before dragging his teeth over Will’s Adam’s apple to claim his lips in a ravenous kiss. “My clever little mongoose. What a marvellous idea, turning him into part of the ultimate art form. Becoming something in death that he could never hope to be in life.”

As he spoke, Hannibal had been littering Will’s exposed skin with kisses and now, as he pressed their lips together, he also pressed their groins together, so Will could feel just how much Hannibal approved of his idea. Public exhibitionism had never really been Will’s thing, but he found himself twining his arms around Hannibal’s neck and undulating his hips against Hannibal’s. Will threaded one hand through Hannibal’s hair and gripped that ridiculously perfect ass with his other, ensuring that there was not a single scrap of space between them as they frotted against each other, sharing almost biting kisses as they did so.

A few years ago, Will would have been horrified at himself for feeling aroused at the prospect of committing murder, for giving in to the darkness within that he had battled so hard against for so many years. Now though, he revelled in it. He relished the anticipation of the kill, of what he knew was to come, that connection with Hannibal that he had truly felt – truly understood - for the first time when they faced Dolarhyde together. The prospect of feeling that again, that rush, that thrill, sent his pulse racing and his arousal soared. And well, it was Chilton. Will’s breath hitched in his chest as Hannibal shifted positions so that Will was all but straddling one of his thighs, allowing Will to aggressively grind against it, clutching Hannibal’s ass so hard that there was no way he wasn’t going to leave fingermarks. As Hannibal bit into the thinner skin below Will’s jawline, Will gave a choked moan and came in his pants like an out of control hormonal teenager, knowing from the way that Hannibal shook against him that the other man had also found his release.

It looked like they knew what they were going to do with Frederick Chilton. All they had to do now was figure out how they were going to do it.

 ~*~

The neighbourhood where Chilton resided in Dresden had come as something of a surprise to Will when he had initially started doing his research. It certainly couldn’t have been anything like his previous residence in Baltimore. It was definitely nothing like the rather exclusive area that Will and Hannibal lived in. Then again, until he picked up a publisher for his book, Chilton wasn’t going to have unlimited funds and his surgeries wouldn’t have come cheap. The rather deserted and slightly rough area also had the advantage that there would be no witnesses to their arrival and departure and, if there were, they wouldn’t actually care.

They heard a rustling behind the door and then it opened, revealing an unsuspecting Frederick. They saw the instant that he recognised who was standing on the other side of his door as his eyes widened and he attempted to slam the door shut. The problem was, after being set on fire, he struggled to move quickly enough due to the tightness of his skin, despite the numerous operations and skin grafts that he had undergone. He had barely moved a few inches before Hannibal and Will were inside his flat, the door swinging shut behind them.

“Now, now, Frederick. Is that any way to behave towards guests?”

“It is when the guest is you.” Frederick lunged towards his phone, only to watch as Will beat him to it, pocketing the item and taking away Frederick’s hope of escape.

“And there was me thinking that it was so nice to see an old friend. Wouldn’t you agree, Will?”

“I suppose it's a bit of a stretch to describe Chilton as a friend but, yes, I suppose so.”

“God, you're sick. Both of you are sick, twisted and rotten to the core. How are you not dead? Why couldn't you just have died and left me alone?”

“We would have been happy to do so but then you insisted on writing a book about us and, well, you just never know when to leave things alone Frederick.”

“I've written about you before … what's different this time?”

“Yes, you did. Eventually. As for what's different; you decided to write about Will as well.”

“That's it? You've crawled out of whatever hole you were hiding in just because I've written about your little pet? After what he did to me, he deserved it.”

“What, precisely, did I do to you, Chilton?”

“You know exactly what you did to me, Will Graham. It's your fault I'm like this. You knew exactly what you were doing when you put your hand on my shoulder in that picture, that Dolarhyde would come for me. I just wish that he had done a better job and actually finished it.”

“Then you should be happy to see us, rather than trying to call the police.”

“Are you going to eat me?”

“What kind of a question is that, Frederick? You know how particular I am about things I put in my body. There is simply no telling what you could have been contaminated with after all your surgeries. No, I’d rather not take the risk and simply source my meat elsewhere.”

“You haven’t stopped it then? The cannibalism?”

“Why would I?”

“Because it’s sick and disgusting. Humans are not meant to eat other humans.”

“Then I suppose that puts you in the same boat as Will and I. Or are you forgetting the number of times that you were a guest at my table, Frederick?”

Chilton had no response to that and so he turned his attention to Will.“And you! So, you finally threw your lot in with Hannibal the Cannibal, did you Graham? I suppose it was always going to be inevitable.”

“Inevitable? Running away with a cannibal serial killer? You’re even crazier than you used to be. Both of you should be locked up and the key thrown away.”

“They tried that, Chilton, for both of us and it didn’t work. And I meant inevitable in the way that two people who love each other will inevitably gravitate towards each other.”

“Love? Love! How can you love a monster like him?”

Will turned to Hannibal, still more than a little awed when Hannibal visibly softened and couldn’t resist crossing the room to press a kiss to Hannibal’s lips.“More easily than you think, Frederick. Besides, it takes one monster to know another.”

As Frederick scoffed, Will turned to Hannibal and spoke sotto voce. “Have you given any thought to how we’re going to do this without getting blood everywhere and causing problems later on?”

“Of course.” Will watched as Hannibal crossed to behind Chilton in three long strides and snapped Chilton’s neck with the same efficiency as he had Mason Verger’s, checking his pulse after. “He is still alive - for the moment - but he will not feel anything. I need you to put this on and then help me lay out the sheeting in the bag.”

Will stared in disbelief at the item that he had just been handed. “Hannibal, this is a clear plastic suit. A clear plastic murder suit.”

“How do you think the Chesapeake Ripper managed to evade capture for so long? Wearing this ensured that no fibres or DNA samples of any sort were found at crime scenes.”

“Are you trying to tell me that for every single murder you committed as the Chesapeake Ripper, you wore one of these? Okay, I need photographic evidence of this.”

“You need to put the suit on, William. We need to get a move on.”

Will did as he was told, somehow managing not to laugh out loud when he saw Hannibal squeaking around in the plastic suit; he may understand the logic, but there was no denying that Hannibal looked utterly ridiculous. So did Will for that matter. Still, the suits served their purpose and, before too long, they had Frederick on the plastic sheeting.

“I’ve seen and analysed just about every single one of your tableaux as the Ripper but I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like this. Have you ever done this? Cut somebody’s head off?”

“No, but I am more than aware of the necessary medical knowledge. We shall kill him and remove the head here and then dispose of the body elsewhere. I shall then embalm the head so that we can replace him with the prop in the opera house. So,” Hannibal handed over a scalpel, his weapon of choice for many years, “I need you to angle his head like this and then slice across his throat from here to here.”

Will did as instructed, revelling in the feeling of power as he set the blade to Chilton’s throat and sliced through flesh and sinew, feeling the blood pumping over his hand and covering his face. As Chilton’s head slumped back, Will turned to look at Hannibal whose eyes were all but glowing with lust and pride, his lips curved in a smile that could only be described as victorious.

Hannibal was clearly unable to resist Will whilst covered in arterial spray as he leaned in and kissed Will hungrily, licking his way into Will’s mouth with a moan before he pulled back. “I have wanted to do that since I saw you covered in blood in the Hobbs’ kitchen.”

Will smiled, feeling the tacky blood starting to dry on his face, almost unable to tear his eyes away from Hannibal’s blood-stained mouth before the sound of their plastic suits rustling distracted him. “Be that as it may, we still have this to deal with. How do you propose we deal with his spinal cord?”

“Bone saw, I believe you’re familiar with one.”

Will raised an eyebrow. “I believe you could say that we’re intimately acquainted. Okay, hand it here.”

It was the early hours of the morning before they were finished and able to return home. Frederick Chilton’s severed and embalmed head was resting in a box, all ready to be swapped out for the prop at the Semperoper. The rest of his remains had been burned and then buried along with his phone, his book manuscript and his passport, his flat left spotless as though he had simply left and disappeared.

Whether that was believed, only time would tell. 

~*~

Will was all but vibrating as they took their seats in the third row of the orchestra, right in the centre. He and Hannibal had picked these seats specifically, knowing that it would give them the best view in the house when it came to the all-important scene. As he sat, he couldn’t help but exchange a conspiratorial glance with Hannibal, humming happily as Hannibal leant in and pressed a kiss to the corner of Will’s mouth, amusement visible in his eyes. Although the Semperoper had no official dress code, they were both dressed up with Hannibal in an oxblood red tuxedo jacket and bow tie while Will had opted for a beautifully tailored designer suit. They had been accompanied by several of Hannibal’s colleagues from the university and part of Will couldn’t help but exult that they had no comprehension of what they would be watching. Of _who_ they would be watching when they reached the climax of the opera. Indeed, the very thought had got Will so turned on earlier that they had almost been late after Will ambushed Hannibal in the shower, clawing at his shoulders as he begged Hannibal to fuck him harder, deeper.

The whole evening had taken a lot of serious and careful planning. After they had disposed of Frederick, the two of them had taken part in one of the frequent backstage tours of the Semperoper, where they had discovered precisely where the props were kept and the specific prop that they wanted to replace. Will had then proceeded to spend several anxious hours pacing the flat as Hannibal had returned to the theatre after hours to replace the head of Jochanaan with that of one Frederick Chilton. Logically, he knew that Hannibal had never been caught by the police, either in Italy or in the States, that the only reason he had been incarcerated was because he had given himself up so that Will would know where he was but still, Will had worried until Hannibal had returned home. There was also a part of Will that was a little concerned that their guests would recognise the decapitated head as being one of the hospital’s more prominent patients but, at the same time, he was counting on them being so carried away by the rest of the spectacle that they assumed it to be a mere resemblance rather than anything else. As for the rest of the audience, well, if they noticed that the head of Jochanaan looked nothing like the singer playing the role, hopefully they just assumed that this particular prop had been made by an apprentice.

Unlike the first time that he saw the opera, this time Will barely paid any attention to what was happening on stage. He was aware of the action, the music, but he was entirely pre-occupied with his thoughts. Specifically, how far he had come. Or was that how far he had fallen?

Will had spent so many years wrangling with the darker side of his nature, constantly warring with the temptation to indulge in his somewhat murderous fantasies. The overkill when he killed Garrett Jacob Hobbs had, in many ways, been the beginning of the end. The start of a very slippery slope. The inevitability of which had started when he met Hannibal. He had known that, the closer he became to Hannibal, the closer that he allowed Hannibal to get to him, the more likely he would be to give into those fantasies. Killing Hobbs had set him on that path. And then he had reached the breaking point.

Randall Tier.

The crossroads. Where he either embraced that which Hannibal had encouraged him to or if he turned his back and rejected it. He had stepped over the edge and embraced the darkness, embraced his true nature, as an old friend.

The death of Randall, at Will’s bare hands, had been the beginning. He had revelled in it, he had enjoyed it. There had maybe been an element of cruelty to it, but Will did not regret it one bit. He had chosen to use his bare hands rather than the shotgun, chosen to make it more personal, more intimate. It had truly been the start of his becoming. The dozen or so deaths that had followed had been murder-by-proxy as opposed to with his own hands, at least until Francis Dolarhyde. That act had been intimate as well, but it had been a different intimacy to Randall, one that he had shared with Hannibal. Will hadn’t lied to Hannibal, it _had_ been beautiful, the culmination of everything that Hannibal had wanted, that Will had come to want.

That they still wanted.

He may have fallen far but he wasn’t alone. He had Hannibal at his side, both precisely where they were meant to be.

Salome had performed her tantalising ‘Dance of the Seven Veils’, entrancing the entire audience in the process but now it was time. The moment that both Will and Hannibal had been waiting for. Will’s hand crept into Hannibal’s, feeling the other man interlace their fingers tightly as the silver platter bearing the head of the former administrator of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane was brought onstage. A self-satisfied smirk crossed Will’s lips – one that was mirrored on Hannibal’s – as they saw the decapitated head of Frederick Chilton for the last time. As Salome danced and sang victoriously on stage before kissing the lips of Jochanaan/Frederick to a few gasps from the audience, Will couldn’t help but wonder how the soprano would react if she ever found out that, rather than kissing a prop as she had done for the rest of the run, she had indeed been kissing a corpse.

Will could feel the blood start to sing in his veins. A mixture of power, triumph and arousal. It was electrifying and, if the grip on his hand was anything to go by, Hannibal felt it too. It was all Will could do to stay in his seat until the opera had finished and the curtain calls had taken place. More than anything, Will was overcome with the primal urge to celebrate their victory.

Unfortunately for him, a small champagne reception had been arranged for their party post-show and they were expected to attend.

Will had never really been a fan of champagne – he infinitely preferred whisky or a beer – but, as they made their way into the bar reserved for them and he took his first sip, it seemed to taste different to every other time that he had drunk it. Maybe it was the taste of euphoria, of victory, that made the bubbling beverage even more palatable to Will. He took several mouthfuls before something pressing arose - or rather became apparent that it wasn’t going to go away - and he knew that he wasn’t going to be able to wait until the reception was over and he and Hannibal returned home. Moving through the room, he stopped briefly to talk to Ahmed and Safiya, the couple who were regulars at the opera, before he reached Hannibal’s side. He lightly touched the small of Hannibal’s back, even though he would have undoubtedly clocked Will’s approach, but waited until Hannibal had finished before he spoke.

“Can I borrow you for a minute?”

“Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen.”

Taking Hannibal by the hand, Will led him out of the bean&beluga lounge that their party was occupying and into the marble-pillared corridors of the ground floor.

“Where to next?”

Will didn’t speak but instead tugged Hannibal after him towards one of the many small alcoves that made up the ground floor. He needed Hannibal and he needed him now, not when they got home. Will had had his suspicions that he wouldn’t last until they got home, that his desire would win out, and so he had come prepared. Once Will judged that they were far enough from the bar, he pulled Hannibal into one of the window alcoves and pulled the curtains closed behind them, turning round to see Hannibal with an eyebrow arched in enquiry. Will didn’t hesitate, simply launching himself at Hannibal and claiming his lips in a bruising kiss, biting at Hannibal’s lower lip. Not even the tang of copper spreading over his tongue as he cut himself on Hannibal’s fangs made him pause until breath became a necessity.

Taking Hannibal's hand, Will pressed it against the hard line of his cock. “I need you now.”

Hannibal made a slightly choked sound and ground his hips into Will so he could feel that he wasn't the only one affected. “ _Yes,_ mylimasis. Anything you want.”

“Turn around.” The words were almost a rasp as Will fumbled in his pocket for the packet of lubricant and condom he'd placed there earlier, desire making his fingers clumsy. The knowledge that Hannibal was going to let Will fuck him was a heady one. Not an unknown pleasure or an infrequent occurrence but heady nonetheless. Particularly given the fact that they were in public and that, when they went back into the reception that they were hosting, there would be very little chance of hiding what they had been up to.

Nevertheless, Hannibal didn’t hesitate as he did as instructed, unbuttoning his trousers and letting them fall to his knees as he did so, revealing a tantalising glimpse of bare flesh beneath the velvet tuxedo jacket he wore. Hannibal had a thing for Will’s arse, fondling it and admiring it whenever possible - Will had seen the looks in Hannibal’s office during their appointments, no matter how subtle the doctor thought he was being - but, in Will’s opinion, Hannibal’s arse was a work of art and one that Will couldn’t get enough of. Reaching out, he couldn’t resist giving it a quick grope as he unzipped his trousers one-handed, fumbling to release his cock. He ripped the condom package open with his teeth before swearing when he had to let go of Hannibal in order to sheathe himself in the latex. His teeth were employed again to rip open the foil packet of lubricant, Will not really caring when he got as much of it on the floor and their clothes as on his fingers.

He wasted no time in inserting his first finger into Hannibal, relishing the slight hitch in Hannibal's breath. It didn’t matter how many times they had done this since that night at the Gran Teatro, Will could never get over how tight Hannibal was around him. He could feel Hannibal exerting control over his body, forcing himself to relax around Will’s finger. Will kissed the jut at the top of Hannibal’s spine as he inserted a second finger, trying to stretch Hannibal as thoroughly and as quickly as possible, aware that they could be caught at any minute. As Hannibal started to ride back on Will’s fingers, he started to insert a third, only for Hannibal to growl at him.

“No. In me, now.”

“But I haven’t…”

“I’m stretched adequately. I want you in me now, Will.”

How could he argue with that? Biting his lip, Will replaced his fingers with the head of his cock and started to press into Hannibal. Almost immediately, he found himself having to bite into the meat of Hannibal’s shoulder through his tuxedo jacket. If he had thought Hannibal was tight around his fingers, it was nothing compared to how he felt around Will’s cock. Hannibal clenched around him like a vice and Will couldn’t help but curse the need for a condom, because it would feel so much better without. They may only be hidden from the world by a simple curtain but, even so, Will had to move slowly else he come prematurely. Finally, he was buried balls deep and Will let out a shaky breath, releasing his teeth from Hannibal’s shoulder. Hannibal gave him no chance for respite, clenching even tighter around Will as he pushed back, impaling himself even further on Will’s cock.

“Fuck me, Will. Just as you’ve wanted to since you saw Chilton’s head on stage.”

There it was. Will’s catalyst. Hearing Hannibal’s tongue wrap itself around the rarely-used (for him) expletive and the reference to Chilton. He started pistoning his hips, sliding in and out of Hannibal with steady movements accompanied by the muted slap of flesh on flesh. His movements faltered when Hannibal took several of Will’s fingers into his mouth, fellating them in counterpoint to Will’s thrusts. It didn’t take Will long to reach his peak and he wrapped his free hand around Hannibal’s cock, stroking him to orgasm even as Will reached his with a choked moan as Hannibal’s internal muscles contracted around him.

Panting heavily, Will slumped over Hannibal's back, feeling his cock slowly slip out of Hannibal as it softened. Stealing Hannibal's pocket square, he wiped his hand of Hannibal's come and cleaned him up before removing the condom, tying it off and making a cursory attempt at cleaning himself with the now sodden fabric. Not wanting to leave any evidence at the opera house, just in case, Will slipped the condom into his pocket, regardless of how grim he found it. He was about to do the same with the now ruined pocket square when Hannibal, trousers now pulled back and in place, stole it from his hand and brought it to his nose, smiling as he inhaled.

“Did you seriously just sniff that? I thought it was weird enough when you smelt me but now you're smelling a pocket square soaked in our come.”

“Why would I not? It is a uniquely natural perfume. The essence of ourselves blended together.”

“You can dress it up in pretty words as much as you like, it's still weird. You're bloody lucky I love you, Hannibal.”

“Ăs tave myliu. But, perhaps we should return to our guests before they come searching for us.”

They meandered back to the bar, neither of them too dishevelled but still sufficiently mussed that, if someone looked closely enough, they would know what they had been up to. Will gave a soft smile as Hannibal reached out and captured his left hand, raising it to his lips and pressing a kiss to it. And then Hannibal gave a smile that could only be described as mischievous.

“So, who's next?” 


	4. Mit boslicher List, lauerndem Blick

“Remind me why we’re going to some place where it takes us three trains to get to in order to see an opera?”

“Because, while Richard Wagner might not be my composer of choice, the opportunity to see one of his works performed in the Bayreuth Festspielhaus is not one to pass on. I made my first application for tickets when I was a young man living in Paris.”

“When you were living in Paris?” Will stuttered. “Hannibal, that was thirty years ago. What is so great about this place that it takes over a quarter of a century to get tickets? Do they make their own paper? Handwrite them with quill and ink then emboss them with gold that they’ve smelted themselves?”

Will grinned at the look Hannibal levelled him with, one that said he was unimpressed with Will’s sass. Will remained unrepentant though. “Look, I’m just saying that I’m never going to be the opera aficionado that you are.”

“You’ve liked the two that I’ve taken you to so far.”

Will looked around, checking that they were alone in the carriage before he responded. “I have, but a large part of that enjoyment was the murder and you can’t murder someone - _we_ can’t murder someone - every single time you want to dress me up and take me to the opera.”

“Can’t I? Why not? Is there something written down that says I shouldn’t?”

Will couldn’t help but chuckle at Hannibal’s antics. Another sign of how far they had come, how far he had come. “I’m just saying that, at some point, I want to settle down and just stay in the same place. That isn’t going to be feasible if we wreak carnage and leave behind a trail of bodies at every step on this Grand European Tour you seem to be taking me on.”

“Am I taking you on a Grand European Tour?”

“Are you not?”

Will smirked as Hannibal inclined his head and pressed a kiss to the corner of Will’s mouth. “My clever boy. I can’t hide anything from you for too long. I had thought Italy next - Rome, Florence, Venice - and then Vienna. I hadn’t thought much beyond there.”

Will didn’t respond, his mind stuck on the second city that Hannibal had mentioned. Florence. The city where he had found Hannibal again, where they had reunited again in the Uffizi Gallery in front of the painting of Primavera and Will was reminded of the conversation that they had had in Cuba about Florence. About Hannibal wanting to show him the city, the two of them being there together as they should have been the first time. Words failing him, Will settled for cupping Hannibal’s cheek and pressing a soft kiss to his lips before he settled firmly against Hannibal’s side. Okay, his boyfriend/lover/partner/nakama/whatever may be a cannibalistic serial killer but there was also no denying that he could be pretty damn romantic when he wanted to be. 

(~*~)

The rest of their train journey had passed in relative peace and quiet. They had remained relatively undisturbed by other passengers and Hannibal had read his book while Will had lounged against his side and dozed on and off. He was wide-awake however the minute that they stepped inside their suite - and he had no idea how Hannibal had managed to get a suite if this festival was the dogs bollocks like it seemed to be.

They were staying in the Hotel Goldener-Anker, a four-star establishment in the heart of Bayreuth next to the opera house. The suite was beautifully appointed with plenty of space over two floors, a ridiculous-sized bathtub and a canopied bed that looked designed for sin. The decor though? Well, the interior decorator had to be blind or just sadistic to inflict this eyesore on people. Checks, paisley, some wallpaper that looked like it might have swans on it; it was a myriad of bad choices and Will couldn’t hold back.

“My god, it’s worse than your pre-prison wardrobe.”

Hannibal’s lips thinned as he pursed them together in a clear sign of his displeasure. “What precisely was wrong with my wardrobe? It was all bespoke tailoring.”

“It may have been bespoke, but there were times that even I doubted your sartorial choices.”

“Says the man who lived in plaid covered in dog hair…”

“Windowpane check suits with striped shirts and paisley ties, Hannibal! No sane person would think that a good combination.”

“But you can’t deny that I pulled it off…”

Will rolled his eyes but he couldn’t deny it. “You’re incorrigible.”

“If you find yourself so offended by the decor then I shall simply have to take it upon myself to keep you distracted so you don’t have to offend your senses too badly.”

“How magnanimous of you. My hero.”

Will smiled against Hannibal’s lips as he was kissed. “You didn’t have plans for this evening, did you? Is there somewhere you will deign to eat in this town because this suite has a lot, but a kitchen it does not have.”

“How observant of you. There are several restaurants in town, as well as at the Festspielhaus where I will eat, even though the cooking may not be up to my own standards.”

“Hannibal, I doubt that there is a chef alive that you think is up to your standards. I can guarantee that they won’t be using your preferred protein either.”

“That may be so, but I can compromise for a weekend.”

“Yeah, sure. Well, you’re going to have to wait for your compromise. If you’re going to make me travel over five hours for an opera, stay in this horrific excuse of a suite and sit through a dinner where you will find fault with every aspect whilst looking sad, I demand at least one orgasm now.”

“My dear Will, I can do better than that.”

“I’m counting on it.” 

~*~

The following day, Hannibal had booked them on a guided tour of the Festspielhaus - something of a rarity during the festival season - and not something that Will was that enamoured with. He would go, of course, lest he end up lumbered with a sulking cannibal boyfriend (again) but there was no doubt that Hannibal was going to owe him an extended fishing trip for this. At the very least. In a vague attempt at passive-aggression, Will deliberately dressed in shorts and a casual shirt, rather than the outfit that Hannibal had laid out. He was already well-aware that he was going to have to dress up for the performance - there had been a lot of fussing and muttering and a painful visit to a tailor when Hannibal had received news of the tickets - but, until then, he would dress as he liked. His decision had earned him the trademark Hannibal look of displeasure but after being stabbed by the man, a look didn’t really faze Will.

The tour itself was okay, he supposed. With the months living in Dresden, Will had picked up a reasonable amount of German and what he didn’t understand, Hannibal was more than happy to translate. Will far preferred the meander that they took through the grounds once the tour had finished. It felt as though they were a normal couple or as normal as they were ever going to get, walking hand in hand and sharing kisses. Will was just wondering if he could get over his reserve and persuade Hannibal into a quickie in the secluded area to their left after such a kiss, given that it had been at least forty-five minutes since he had seen anyone else, when a loud voice interrupted the silence.

“Fucking faggots. Why do they have to do that in public? Nobody wants to see two men kissing - it’s sickening. Bloody fairies. It’s bad enough that they let anybody attend the Festival these days but to be forced to see that? It’s disgusting. And to be disrespecting the dress code as well.”

From the way that Hannibal stiffened at his side, Will knew that he could add French to the list of languages that Hannibal was fluent in, along with all of the others. He also had no doubt that this particular pig had just shot to the top of Hannibal’s current list. He’d certainly made it to that place on Will’s. Forcing himself to remain calm, Will looked over at the man who had spoken. Tall - the same height as Will - but stocky rather than lithe, rather handsome but with a cruel edge to his mouth and eyes. Will sensed Hannibal about to respond and squeezed his hand, grateful when his silent request was understood and Hannibal subsided. It had been a long time since he had used this particular skill-set but, to his relief, it came back even if his delivery was somewhat crude.

“The only disgusting thing here is your bigotry. My partner and I have tickets for tomorrow and I think you’ll find that the dress code only applies to performances not guided tours.”

The man looked shocked that, not only had he been understood, but that Will had responded in his own language, no matter how bastardised. Even so, he remained, staring them down, until Will arched an eyebrow and then he finally turned on his head and left.

“I didn’t know you spoke French, Will.” The tone of Hannibal’s voice clearly implied that he had been under the assumption that he knew all of Will’s secrets.

“Not really, I can fudge it. I speak Louisiana Creole; it was the language of my mother’s family and most of the dock workers preferred it. I’m rusty though; been an awful long time since I’ve used it. Since I’ve had any call to use it.”

“It sounded good. Your voice changed, there was a certain note to it. A Southern twang perhaps?”

Will didn’t quite know how to respond to that so he ignored it, instead looking after the retreating figure of the man who had been so offended by them. “Who was he? I didn’t see him on the tour…”

“That is Renaud Canet, a Wagnerian tenor of note. He is to play the male lead in the production of Tristan und Isolde we have tickets for.”

A smile curved Will’s lips and he twined his arms around Hannibal’s neck. “Tell me the story of Tristan and Isolde.”

Hannibal’s smile matched Will’s own, his hands coming up to grasp Will’s hips. “Darling, I thought you said that we couldn’t murder someone every time we went to the opera?”

The tone of Hannibal’s voice made Will seriously reconsider going into the bushes and doing something far worse than disrespecting the dress code. And that was without taking the fact that Hannibal had called him darling into consideration.  “Am I not allowed to change my mind?” Will nuzzled up under Hannibal's jaw, biting gently at his earlobe before whispering in his ear, “please?” 

“Very well. It is based largely upon a twelfth-century romance by Gottfried von Strassburg although Wagner wrote the libretto himself and was heavily influenced by the philosophy of Arthur Schopenhauer as well as Wagner’s own affair with Mathilde von Wesondonck. It was highly influential for many composers and many believe that Tristan lays the groundwork for the direction of classical music in the twentieth century as well as being a profoundly important influence upon symbolist poets.”

“Hannibal, I asked for the story not the entire history.”

“Very well. It is not a simple plot though.”

“There’s a surprise; it’s an opera. None of them seem to have simple plots.”

“True. But Wagner’s are more convoluted than most.”

“Okay. Get on with it then.”

“In the simplest of terms, the plot is as follows. Tristan and Isolde have fallen in love – but Tristan has promised that Isolde will marry his uncle, King Marke. Isolde offers Tristan a deathly potion. Rather than bring death, it binds them still closer together. After her marriage to Marke, Isolde continues to meet Tristan in secret. One night they are betrayed, and Tristan allows himself to be wounded. King Marke permits the lovers to be reunited, but too late. Tristan dies on Isolde’s arrival and Isolde withdraws from the world. As I said, a little simplistic, but it will suffice.”

Will hummed in response. “How does Tristan get wounded?”

“There is some debate as to the matter but he either allows himself to be stabbed or deliberately impales himself on a sword. Why do you ask?”

Will rolled his eyes. Given his obvious intelligence and insight, Hannibal really did ask some stupid questions from time to time. “Just mulling things over, thinking them through. Considering the options, let’s say.”

“And do you intend to share these options?”

“I don’t know … eventually? I wouldn’t say that they could be described as tasty.”

Will watched as Hannibal smiled at the reference to one of their first ever conversations. “I have my own unique palate; I’m sure I will not find an issue.”  


~*~

On the day that they had tickets to the Festival, the performance didn’t start until four pm which meant that they had several hours to fill. Hannibal had suggested that they visit the Hermitage on the outskirts of Bayreuth and Will had seen no reason to deny him. Just as the previous day, it was nice to act like any other couple being tourists. Once they were at the Hermitage, certain parts - the lower grotto especially - couldn’t help but remind Will of the Lecter family home that he had visited in Lithuania.

That had, inevitably, made him remember the man that he had killed there. The man who had killed Hannibal’s beloved Mischa, the man that Will had killed and strung up in a work of art worthy of the Ripper. He wondered if Hannibal had ever seen it. He’d never mentioned it but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Then again, he had no idea if Hannibal had ever returned to the home where he had not only grown up but seen so much heartbreak and upset. Will couldn’t help but wonder if Lithuania would end up making an appearance on their European Grand Tour at some point.

Of course, thinking of Castle Lecter made him think of Chiyoh. In all honesty, she hadn’t crossed Will’s mind at all since she had left them in the Cuban marina. Now, however, he thought of her. Had she told Hannibal of the tableau that Will had left for him, some secret hope buried deep inside him that Hannibal would see it, would think it worthy of the Ripper? Where had she gone when she left them? Had she made contact or did she now consider her duty to the Lecter family fulfilled? Hannibal hadn’t mentioned anything but, again, that didn’t mean that she hadn’t been in touch.

All in all, it meant that it was a very distracted Will Graham who meandered through the Bayreuth Hermitage with Hannibal.

He was just as distracted when they got back to their suite and started to dress for the opera. It was strange. Will had had a fair few relationships over the years but none of them had ever inspired the same visceral, all encompassing reactions that Hannibal did. Before, even when he had been married to Molly, there had been facets, whole aspects of his personality that he had kept hidden and underwraps. He didn’t have to do that with Hannibal. He _couldn’t_ do that with Hannibal.

They were too entwined with each other.

The memory was still painful but he couldn’t help but remember Hannibal’s words in his kitchen after he had attempted to gut Will. He would never forget those words, they were seared into his brain. “I let you know me. See me.” It was true. Hannibal had let Will get to know him, get to see him, just as he had known and seen Will in return. They had both seen the darkness that lurked within themselves, within the other, and had embraced it, even if it had taken Will longer than Hannibal.

Mind games, manipulation, murder, brain melting illnesses, stabbings, incarceration. Put all of that aside and what he had with Hannibal was still probably the strongest, most passionate, most real - and most fucked up - relationship that he had ever had. Not that he cared that it was fucked up; he was happy, Hannibal was happy, what did the rest of it matter now?

And yet, they still had their differences. Case in point being now, as they dressed for their evening at the Festspielhaus.

He’d never had a lover who took such pride in their appearance and who looked so good _all the time_ before Hannibal. The man had even managed to look attractive in a BSHCI jumpsuit. Even now, Will was amazed that Hannibal was still with him considering how little care he took over his appearance when compared to Hannibal. Admittedly, he’d come a long way from the early days of nothing but plaid shirts, chinos and white t-shirts, all covered in more dog hair than should be feasibly possible. There had been a distinct improvement in his wardrobe after his release from the BSHCI and then, again, after his marriage to Molly. Even so, it had been not a lot more than shirts that weren't plaid, trousers that showed off his ass (Hannibal really wasn't as subtle as he thought he was) and no dog hair.

And then Francis Dolarhyde had happened, Will and Hannibal had taken a dive off the Baltimore cliffs and started a new life in Cuba. Will hadn’t given a damn about his clothing and had been far more concerned with the relationship - or lack of it - with Hannibal. He'd lived in shorts and t-shirts until he'd kissed Hannibal and the man had invited him to the opera, supplying a bespoke suit in the process. Part of Will felt that he should be creeped out by Hannibal knowing his exact measurements without Will giving them, but then this was Hannibal and it just felt like something the man would do. Of course, Hannibal had taken their subsequent confessions of love and embarkation upon a relationship as tacit agreement that he could take control over Will's wardrobe.

Will had let him. Why wouldn’t he? He may have found Hannibal’s style a little - a lot - pretentious previously, but he seemed to have relaxed a little post their fall and hadn’t said anything when Will had quietly snuck in a couple of pairs of jeans alongside some jumpers and t-shirts. Besides, as ridiculous as Will felt when he was dressed in the pieces that Hannibal had chosen, it was worth it for the appreciative and hungry look that appeared in Hannibal’s eyes when he saw Will wearing them. The look that promised all sorts of pleasurable delights once Hannibal had his fill of seeing Will in the clothes he had chosen and stripped him naked.

It was exactly the same look that Will got when he was able to watch Hannibal dress - or undress - as he was now. Yes, Will loved seeing Hannibal dressed down in pyjama pants and soft sweaters and he had every intention of getting the man in a pair of jeans at some point in the not too distant future, but there was no denying that he looked ridiculously good in his three piece suits. And naked. As much as Will loved getting Hannibal naked, revealing that broad, hairy chest and strong shoulders, the surprisingly soft tummy that he loved so much and the long, lean swimmers legs, he also enjoyed the show of watching Hannibal get dressed.

Of watching all of the parts that he loved being covered up in various layers until Hannibal was perfectly suited and booted in his person suit. Looking like the epitome of a well-dressed pillar of society, no hints of the monster that lurked beneath the surface.

The monster that Will loved without question.

Once they were both dressed, Will couldn’t resist coming to stand by Hannibal, running a hand over his back and observing them both in the mirror. A perfect match for each other, both in their bespoke suits, their seeming respectability hiding the darkness - and the danger - that was concealed within. 

(~*~)

By the time that the opera was over, Will was certain of three things. One, he was completely and utterly overwhelmed. Secondly, he hated Wagner. It didn't matter how many blowjobs, fishing licences or murders Hannibal promised him, there was no way that Will was ever going to voluntarily go and watch another Wagnerian opera. The bombardment on his senses had been incessant, moreso than in the other productions that they had seen. There was just so much going on all the time. The sound of the orchestra was deafening and, not only were the singers so powerful, but the women sang so high it felt like his ears were ringing. Some of them also sounded as though they were screeching as opposed to singing. And then there was the heat. It was so hot in the Festspielhaus that it felt as though Will had gone back in time to when he had encephalitis. It was not an experience that he wanted to repeat. He'd tried subtly fanning himself in an attempt to cool down but that had resulted in a death glare from the little old lady sat next to him so he hadn't tried again. Who knows, maybe it was his empathy that made it worse - although it hadn't been an issue with Dido and Salome - but one thing was for sure, Wagner and Will Graham were not a good mix. The third thing was that that was seven hours of his life that he was never getting back.

It said a lot when the food was the best part of the evening and even that hadn't been that great when compared to Hannibal's cooking. They had eaten at the Steigenberger, the restaurant within the grounds of the Festspielhaus, indulging in the menu that involved six different courses all paired with different wines and eaten both before the show and in the two intervals. In all honesty, Hannibal was lucky that Will hadn't just fallen asleep given the different wines they imbibed.

The menu certainly sounded like something that Hannibal had created. At least, it was pretentious enough. There was horseradish foam and beef tartar, veal and something served with an emulsion. All of it was ridiculously snooty and, had Hannibal served it to him, Will would have rolled his eyes and made some sassy comment, then eaten it and rolled his eyes again in ecstasy. As it was, the food was good but it wasn’t amazing; it was merely something to do to pass the time during the hour-long intervals in the opera.

Of course, it didn't help that they'd run into the singer again on their way back to the hotel.

They were among the very last patrons to leave, as Hannibal had been talking to a group of opera fans that he'd managed to charm with seemingly no effort at all. Even better, he didn't appear to expect Will to join in the conversation, so he had amused himself by watching the departing crowds, followed by the musicians themselves and then what must have been the singers. And that was when Will saw him. Or, rather, when he had seen Will.

The look of disgust on Canet’s face had been unmistakeable, his revulsion almost palpable, as he recognised them and Will couldn’t resist riling him up a bit by stepping a touch closer to Hannibal and sliding an arm around him, so low that it was basically grazing his ass. Will had smirked as that had elicited a full-body shudder from the singer and nothing more than a slight tensing from Hannibal. Releasing Hannibal with a brief squeeze, Will ambled over, only to be greeted with a wave of homophobic vitriol.

“You know, I’d have thought you’d be a bit more tolerant; we can’t be the first same-sex couple you’ve come across, not in your profession. I’d be careful if I were you,” Will flashed a shark-like grin, “your opinions might get you in trouble one day.”

With those words, Will left and rejoined Hannibal who had finished his conversation in the meantime. Their journey back to the hotel was silent but comfortably so and then, the second that the door to their suite swung shut behind them, Hannibal uttered the words that no-one in a relationship ever wants to hear.

“We need to talk.”

The words coming from Hannibal's mouth had Will freezing in his tracks and his brain all but shutting down. Talk about what? Was Hannibal unhappy? Did he not want this anymore? Did he not want Will? He had thought they were happy - they had said they loved each other - had he got it completely wrong? This was why Will hated relationships. They were like negotiating a minefield and that was even if you didn't have his social ineptitude. And then Hannibal was cupping his face, forcing him to make eye-contact. Even so, Will's thoughts didn't stop spiralling.

“Stop, breathe. I want you to tell me your name, the time and where you are.”

“My name is Will Graham, it's one in the morning and I'm in Bayreuth.”

“Good. Before we talk about anything, you can forget the ridiculous idea that I want to end this, end us.”

“How…”

“I know you, Will Graham. There is no way that I will leave you. Nothing could ever induce me to leave you. Not now.”

“Then what do you want to talk about so urgently?”

“You still want to kill him, don't you? Renaud Canet? The tenor.”

“Don't you? After everything he said? He's a rude pig; just your preferred type of protein.”

“Two days ago you said that we should be careful, that we shouldn’t leave a trail of bodies behind us because you want to settle down one day, no doubt with a dog. Yet, here you are wanting to kill not just anybody, but a classical singer with a rather high profile in certain circles.”

“I thought that was what you wanted? Us killing together. We stood on the cliffs after we’d killed Francis Dolarhyde and you said ‘this is all I ever wanted for you, Will. For both of us’. You wanted me to embrace my darkness and, now I have, you’re trying to stop me. What’s going on, Hannibal?”

“You were right, I did say that this was all I wanted for us. Perhaps, with that being the case, I’m finding it a little hard to believe that what I wanted did not end on the bluff, that it has continued. I suppose that I had half-expected you to be unwilling to continue after Francis. To demand that I stop or, at the very least, moderate the number and submit to a series of rules.”

Will was gobsmacked. “Are you saying that you would do either of those things if I demanded it? That the Chesapeake Ripper could be tamed? Would allow himself to be tamed like one of my dogs?”

“Did I not prove that when I gave myself up to the FBI after Muskrat Farm? I would willingly do anything you demanded of me. You would find me as capable of following commands as any one of your dogs and as faithful as Winston. As for being tamed, I believe that it would be bearable if you were the one holding my leash.”

“I don’t want to leash you, Hannibal. I want you to be yourself, just as I want to be myself. That isn’t going to happen without killing. I’d even venture to go as far as saying that neither of us would be happy. I just think we need to show restraint. Maybe not kill anyone else in Germany after this one.”

Hannibal’s response to Will’s pronouncement was to tangle his fingers in Will’s curls, pulling him into a searing kiss, his thumb stroking over the scar left by Dolarhyde, the sensation making Will shudder and moan before Hannibal pulled back.

“Very well. I had planned for us to move on to Italy anyway; Rome is particularly lovely at this time of year. So, our bigoted tenor, how would you like to deal with him?” Hannibal’s hands had started to wander, but Will made no attempt to stop them.

“Is this your idea of foreplay, Hannibal? Discussing how to murder someone?”

“Is it working?”

“It shouldn’t be.”

“But?”

“Take me to bed, Hannibal.”

~*~

In the end, they hadn’t actually got to bed until the early hours of the morning once they had discussed precisely how they were going to take care of their troublesome Tristan amid several rounds of lovemaking. Will had drawn on Hannibal’s knowledge of the opera - Will really hadn’t been paying attention by the time that they had got to act three - and his own eidetic memory of the theatre from their backstage tour two days previously until they had a plan that they felt was workable.

The following morning, they had checked out of their eyesore of a hotel, Hannibal making small talk with the proprietress as they did so. This part was just one of several crucial elements to their plan. Should, for any reason, they come under suspicion, she would be able to confirm that they had planned to visit the Neues Schloss and the Ökologisch-Botanischer Garten der Universität Bayreuth. To further cover their tracks, they would be visiting those very same places once they had temporarily stored their luggage at the train station, however briefly. With that done, they had made their way towards the Festspielhügel, blending in with the crowds attending the afternoon performance so that they were quite anonymous as they snuck into the backstage area and secreted themselves in an out of the way storeroom.

As far as Will was concerned, the real frustration with the whole thing was the amount of waiting around that they had to do. Everything had to be timed perfectly, otherwise their plan simply wouldn’t work. Will was a fisherman, he could be as patient as he need to be when he was stood in a stream, waiting for a bite but, right now, his patience was at its lowest. He knew exactly where his catch was located and he was frustrated at having to wait. He didn’t know how Hannibal had done it over the years, sometimes waiting months or even years to kill those he had deemed unworthy. Knowing that they had time hidden in their little corner, he decided to ask.

“How did you do it? Know who you wanted to kill but then wait months or years before you actually did it? The waiting is infuriating.”

“I would have thought you would have far more patience than this given you are a fisherman. As for waiting, there was no little satisfaction in watching them go about their life not knowing that they had been selected and that their days were numbered, that their lives would end when I decided they would.”

Will struggled to hold back his bark of laughter. “Power over life and death. Some would say a Godlike ability. ‘Hannibal’s not God. He wouldn’t have any fun being God. Defying God, that’s his idea of a good time.’ I said that to Abigail.” He sobered slightly. “Well, I thought I said it to Abigail but, in reality, she was already dead and I was hallucinating.”

They lapsed into silence at that - what more was there to say? - until they heard a voice speaking German in an accent that wasn’t German.

“Five minutes until the end of the act. Can you get rid of this for me? Canet will go mad if he sees it in his dressing room, he hates me enough already.”

Moving slowly and silently, they got to their feet and then, almost before Will could register the movement, Hannibal had opened and shut the door and there was another body in the tiny space with them. Before Will could question it, a few movements from Hannibal and the man was a limp mass of limbs on the floor at their feet.

“Canet’s dresser?” Will prodded at the body with a toe.

“Collateral damage. He’s not dead, merely unconscious. It’s sufficiently dark enough that he will wake in a few hours with no recollection of what happened. Come, there is just enough time for us to install ourselves in the dressing room.”

The backstage corridors were starting to fill up but, in all black and the dim light, they fitted in and despite one of two second glances, no-one questioned their presence. They had been secreted in the surprisingly large dressing room for no longer than a few minutes when they heard the door open and the unmistakable voice of Canet.

“I don’t want to be disturbed, but make sure that my dresser is here at the half.”

“Yes, sir.”

They heard the door shut and then Canet humming to himself as he disappeared into the adjoining bathroom. As he did, Hannibal and Will emerged from their hiding places, ensuring that the outer door was locked, perfectly placed so that Canet couldn't miss them when he emerged from the bathroom.

They weren't disappointed.

“You two! You're the queers who have been flaunting your abomination of a _relationship_ around these hallowed halls. What are you doing in my dressing room? Members of the public aren't allowed backstage and I do not want you tainting my space.”

“Well, we just wanted a chat about how rude you've been to us. Clear the air and all that. There’s no need to compound the issue.”

“A chat? You broke into my dressing room to have a chat? You're mad, both of you. I'm calling security.”

Canet barely made it two steps before Hannibal was behind him, a scalpel pressed up against his ribs. “I would not do that if I were you.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” Wide panicked eyes looked up at Will but found no sympathy.

Far from it.

Will smirked as he allowed his own scalpel to slip into his hand from its hiding place in his sleeve. “I warned you that your opinions would get you into trouble. You should have kept your opinions to yourself.

“What makes you think you’re going to get away with this? I’ll call the police and you’ll be arrested for attempted murder!”

“Attempted? You underestimate our expertise, Monsieur. This is not the first time that we’ve done this, nor will it be the last, and I can guarantee that you will not be phoning the police. I would suggest that you prepare sing your heart out; this will be your last performance.”

Canet made an attempt to escape but, even fuelled by fear-induced adrenaline, he was no match for Hannibal and Will. There was no hint of their pulses being even slightly raised by the time that they had him gagged and tied to his chair, shirt open to reveal his bare chest. Nevertheless, he still kicked out at Will when he had the opportunity. Unfortunately for Canet, Will responded with lightning speed, a line of blood welling up just above Canet’s heart where Will’s scalpel sliced him.

“Ooops. My hand must have slipped. So sorry.”

_“William.”_ Hannibal’s tone was chiding but the look on his face was definitely indulgent when Will turned to him, completely unrepentant. “Shall we proceed? We are working to a schedule here…”

“Of course, tell me what I’m doing again?”

“You’re going to make an incision into the internal and external iliac veins. Normally, damage to blood supply around the spleen and liver will ensure that the victim bleeds out in a matter of hours. We shall ensure a quicker death by targeting other veins in addition. Now, you need to make your incision here to a depth of approximately two inches and then move vertically downwards.”

“Is that right?”

“Absolutely perfect. What a wonderful student you are, my darling boy. Now, if you make an incision here, you will lacerate the gonadal vein which will help speed things along.”

Will had just followed Hannibal's instructions when there was a rap at the door.

“Monsieur Canet? I couldn't find your dresser … do you want me to see who's available to help?”

Canet made a vain attempt at a struggle but it was no good. Between the fabric gagging him and Will's hand covering his mouth for good measure, his faint cries couldn't be heard on the other side of the door amid the usual backstage hubris. A small smile playing at the corner of his mouth, Hannibal raised his voice loud enough to be heard and responded in flawless German.

“No need, I'm already here. Monsieur Canet’s just in the bathroom.”

“Okay. Thanks. The whistle for the half went ten minutes ago.”

“Noted. Now, where were we?” Hannibal cupped Will's cheek in his hand, brushing his thumb across Will's lip before he followed it with his lips. “One more incision, I believe. Just to be on the safe side.”

“Where?”

“The renal veins. They drain into the inferior vena cava, carrying blood from the lower half of the body to the right atrium of the heart.”

At Hannibal’s words, Canet made another attempt at freeing himself but it was feeble at best, the wounds that he had suffered already starting to take their toll.

“Guide me?”

“Always, mylimasis.”

Hannibal positioned himself so that he was ensconcing Will in his embrace, his hand covering Will’s on the scalpel as he guided him to make the final - and fatal - incisions. It was the work of minutes and, when they pulled the scalpel away, blood started to ooze sluggishly from the wound. That done, they dressed Canet in his costume for the third act, the already bloody bandages and shirt hiding the wounds that they had inflicted until, when he was fully costumed, there was no indication of their actions.

With less than ten minutes until the curtain was due to rise, they left the dressing room with Hannibal sticking close to Canet, a scalpel pressed unseen against his ribs to ensure no problems, while Will trailed behind. They received a few curious looks but, in the hustle and bustle of backstage, there was nothing more than that. Nobody stopped them or questioned their presence as everybody was too busy with their work. They arrived in the wings with perfect timing, just as the audience applauded the return of the conductor.

“I have no doubt that you will now be able to add some pathos to the performance that was somewhat lacking yesterday. Bonsoir, Monsieur Canet.”

With Hannibal’s words, they pushed Canet onto the stage, just in time for him to slump onto the floor as the curtain started to rise and the shepherd started singing.

They stayed in the wings for several minutes, watching as Canet battled with himself whether to continue with the performance or try to make people aware of what had happened before they got to Tristan’s first vocal entry. Will held his breath as they reached that precise moment and then relaxed minutely when Canet started to sing. He was hyper-aware of every single thing. Of Hannibal pressed against his back from shoulder to knee, able to feel every single breath, and of the man slowly dying on stage with every word that he sang, courtesy of the wounds that Will - and, by proxy, Hannibal - had inflicted upon him.

“It’s time for us to go, lest we be discovered. I can promise you that Mr Canet will not survive the end of the act.”

Will cast one more glance towards the stage before he allowed Hannibal to usher him away, slightly reluctant to leave but knowing that Hannibal was right. They needed to make their train in order to ensure that they had an alibi. He was just going to have to trust that he had followed Hannibal’s instructions to the letter and that their rude pig was going to meet his end on stage, gaining endless fame - and notoriety - in the process. 

(~*~)

By the time that Tristan breathed his last in the Festspielhaus, Hannibal and Will were safely aboard their train for the first leg of their journey. They would get the train to Hof and break their journey there overnight, before continuing on to Dresden the following morning. Will had been a little reluctant to leave their pig still breathing - and he knew that Hannibal had been just as reluctant - but knew that there had been truth in Hannibal’s words that it made sense for them to leave before events unfolded. The number of guests at the Festspielhaus was limited enough that it would be easy for them to be discovered had they remained yet, why would anyone suspect Dr Hans Fischer and his husband Wilhelm who had checked out of their hotel that morning and visited several other Bayreuth tourist attractions before getting their train? So, Will had reluctantly conceded, having been assured by Hannibal that that was no possible way that Canet would be able to survive his wounds.

Will walked out of the bathroom to be greeted by the sight of Hannibal in bed and under the covers already, bare-chested and reading something on his tablet. He looked up and smiled as Will slid into the bed, cuddling up to him without hesitation. Will pillowed his head on Hannibal’s shoulder as the tablet was tilted so that he could read the screen easily.

“Slipped Disc? What’s that?”

“A rather well-known classical music blog written and run by an English music journalist. Not quite stooping to the low standards of Ms Lounds but not the best regarded in the business. However, he is always quick with the latest news and is already reporting upon the sad demise of Mr Canet.”

“He's definitely dead then?”

“William,” Hannibal's tone was chiding, “I did tell you that the wounds we inflicted would definitely kill him. I was a surgeon and have done this many times before.”

“Yes, but I was the one who made the incisions and I could have done it wrong. Even with your instructions. What does the article say? Do they suspect anything?”

“The article reads as follows. ‘ _Is this another nail in the coffin for Katharina Wagner’s blighted reign at Bayreuth?’_ The Green Hill is not un-used to controversies, although it is has had more than its fair share since Wagner’s great-granddaughter took over the running of the festival, but a death onstage is a new one. Certainly considerably more serious than booing Ms Wagner  from the audience. Reports are surfacing that, in this afternoon's performance of Tristan, Renaud Canet - performing the titular role - died onstage just as the character does towards the end of the third act. There is some speculation amongst audience members that the bloody bandages that form part of the act three costume were hiding genuine wounds. Bayreuth management have yet to release a statement. More information to follow.

As for suspecting anything, quite the contrary. We are definitely not under suspicion. Indeed, it would appear that, despite his reputation as a Wagnerian tenor of some renown, Mr Canet was not well-liked by his colleagues. The following article on the same blog goes on to state that all sorts of salacious rumours are starting to come out of the woodwork regarding the man in question. Disputes with conductors and directors, sabotaging fellow cast members, pulling out of performances at short notice, arguments with critics and accusations of sexual harassment. Mr Canet was not a nice man and his comeuppance was clearly well-deserved.”

“So we’re in the clear?”

“We are indeed. Suspicion will fall on many others before we would even be taken into consideration. Nevertheless, I believe it’s time for us to make our move to Rome rather more imminent than originally planned.”

“Will that cause problems?”

“Not in the slightest. Everything is already in place.”

“Of course it is.” Trusting in Hannibal, Will slid down the bed and snuggled up to him wondering who they would be in Rome. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't hoping for husbands again. Who knew, maybe one day they could do it for real and make it official.


	5. Ah! Finalmente

Will had kind of assumed that, at some point, things – life – with Hannibal would settle down and he would get the opportunity to become accustomed to it. So far, that hadn’t happened. Will had hoped that Rome would be the turning point.

He was still waiting.

Life in the Italian capital was different to their life in Dresden and their time in Cuba before that. If asked, Will would probably say that he preferred Rome the most … Cuba was always going to be special to him, but he couldn’t go back to that time of uncertainty and constant anxiety. He had enjoyed Dresden and their brief sojourn to Bayreuth, but their time there had been purposeful. At least, Dresden had been. They had gone there for a reason and, had it not been for the presence of Frederick Chilton, Will was pretty sure they wouldn’t have gone. Still, it had been educational and it had served its purpose; Frederick Chilton was no more.

One big change in Rome was that they were both working. Sort of. Hannibal had managed to gain a position as a guest professor at the Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia instructing the few students that met his exacting standards in harpsichord and composition. Will’s job didn’t pay – yet, as Hannibal kept saying – but he had gone back to his roots and started researching and writing monographs once more.

It was nice. It reminded him of another time. A time before Jack had come calling. A simpler time when Will had been nothing more than an academic and a teacher. A time before Hannibal. Yet, for all its simplicity, Will could not wish for another life. Besides, now that he had him, Will wasn’t sure that he could live without Hannibal. So, Will whiled away the hours that Hannibal was at the Accademia researching in the little study that had been created for him in their apartment. When Hannibal wasn’t working, they would visit the art galleries and museums of the city, stopping for coffee or a glass of wine in one of the many café-bars before returning home so that Hannibal could concoct one of his feasts.

It had been eight months now since Will had thrown them over the cliffs into the murky depths of the Atlantic and, while Will knew that he would be looking over his shoulder for the FBI for a while yet, each day he relaxed a little more. It was incremental. Baby steps. Just the same as how every passing day made him a little bit more secure in his relationship with Hannibal.

Catching sight of the time, Will swore as he realised that he had been daydreaming for longer than he had thought, and he was going to struggle to get to the point he wanted to before Hannibal returned home. The monograph that he was currently working on was in a similar vein to his one on determining time of death by insect activity and Will hoped that this one would be as popular when he published it under whatever pseudonym he decided upon. There was a copy of his first monograph in just about every forensics lab in the world and it was on the required reading list of every single forensics course which meant that Will got a rather nice sum deposited into his bank account at the start of every academic year, even now. Hopefully this one would be just as popular, so that Will could contribute a little more to their household.

Determined to have some work to show for his day when Hannibal returned, he set to with renewed focus. With his newfound determination, it was easy for Will to lose himself completely in his research. When he roused himself, some hours later, it was to the realisation that dusk had fallen, and that Hannibal had returned home if the faint strains of music and the scent of something delicious in the air were anything to go by. Neatly stacking his papers, Will wandered down the hallway to the rom that they used the most; a large, open-plan space that opened onto the kitchen. Pausing at the doorway, he realised that the music he had heard was actually Hannibal playing the elaborately decorated harpsichord that dominated the space rather than a recording.

Will knew that Hannibal played, of course he did. It had come up in conversation when Hannibal had seen the sadly-neglected instrument in Will’s home in Wolf Trap and Will had trailed curious fingertips over the instrument in Hannibal’s office. Besides, Hannibal would have to be an excellent keyboard player to get a professorship at the Accademia. Yet, in all the years Will had known Hannibal, he didn’t think he’d ever seen him play. At least, not properly. Spotting a half-drunk glass of wine on the counter, Will picked it up and placed his lips over the faint imprint left by Hannibal’s lips, unable to resist the temptation, however ridiculous it may seem. Taking a healthy mouthful, Will let the rich, dark liquid roll over his palate as he took a seat to watch Hannibal play.

He liked seeing the older man like this. It was almost as though something changed the second that his fingers touched the keys. It was a softening of his hard edges, as though some of his masks fell away and parts of Hannibal that weren’t always visible could just be glimpsed. In truth, it was something that Will wanted to see more of. He continued to sip at the wine and let his mind drift while Hannibal’s fingers danced gracefully across the keys.

For the first time in a while – since their conversation in Cuba – Will thought about Abigail. In the time that had passed since they had escaped from Muskrat Farm – and even before that, in truth – Will had mostly made his peace with Abigail’s death. With her murder at Hannibal’s hands. He had even forgiven him. Now, however, in Italy for the first time since he had been here searching for Hannibal and had imagined her by his side, Will couldn’t help but think of her. He wondered if, had they all left together, would this have been their life? Would they all be living in Italy, Abigail at university and Hannibal teaching her to play the harpsichord instead of performing as he did now. It left Will feeling a little melancholic but the memory of her was no longer unbearable, as it had once been. Pulling his thoughts away, Will turned his attention back to Hannibal as he launched into a reprise of the start of the piece.

In the low light, strands of tawny-silver hair falling over his forehead and those ridiculously cut cheekbones of his creating shadows, he looked like a fallen angel. Given that he was playing something frequently referred to as the “instrument of death” and Hannibal’s history, that probably made him akin to Lucifer. Will couldn’t suppress the small smile that emerged at that thought. As the final chords evaporated into the air, Will abandoned his wineglass and wandered over, taking a seat at the piano bench next to Hannibal and bussing a kiss over one of the aforementioned cheekbones.

“What had you so amused?”

“Nothing of importance; merely a stray thought. What was the piece you were playing? It sounded familiar.” Will’s fingers picked out the first few notes of the melody, a little hesitantly but competently.

“Bach’s Aria from the Goldberg Variations. A particular favourite of mine.”

“It was beautiful. Will you play something else?”

“If you wish me to; there is still time before dinner will be ready. Do you have any requests? More Bach? Perhaps some Donizetti as we are in Italy?”

Will shook his head. “No. Play me something that you’ve written.”

“Something that I’ve written? You want to hear one of my compositions?”

“Why do you sound so surprised? Are you going to try telling me that you haven’t written anything? Because if you are, then I don’t believe you. Even if it wasn’t what they hired you to do at the Accademia, I wouldn’t believe you. Hannibal, you’re like the ultimate Renaissance man. You speak however many languages, cook to beyond professional standards, play several instruments, former surgeon, qualified psychiatrist, talented artist … of course, you compose your own music. So, play me one of your own compositions.”

“Very well.”

Will watched in interest as Hannibal caressed the keys before he started to play. It was very different to what Hannibal had been playing before. There seemed to be less decoration, less twiddling and fancy bits. That wasn’t to say that it was boring, far from it. It may not have as many embellishments but that didn’t mean it lacked depth. Indeed, there seemed to be so many layers to it that Will felt dizzy trying to keep track of all the different harmonies and textures. And so many different moods as well; some sounding dark, others lighter, equally melancholic and passionate by turn. Will couldn’t help but marvel at it, and he felt more than a little disappointed when it ended.

“Hannibal, that was…” Will was at a loss for words. “Why pick that piece?”

Long fingers caressed Will’s cheek before Hannibal’s words packed an emotional punch.

“Because I wrote it with you in mind.”

~*~

Will sipped at his champagne as he allowed Hannibal to steer him through the crowds, a hand at the small of his back as he periodically introduced Will to his new colleagues. Will was still trying to acclimatise himself to the fact that life with Hannibal entailed far more socialising than Will would ever be happy with, especially considering that they were, essentially, fugitives. He did like being introduced as Hannibal’s husband though.

They were at a gala reception for the Accademia’s newest production of Puccini’s _Tosca_ which would be performed in the Teatro della Opera di Roma, in collaboration with their professional company. Hannibal might not be involved in the production given his specialties, but his position as a guest professor guaranteed him an invite along with his plus one. Having had the feeling that they would be in Italy for the foreseeable future given that Hannibal had mentioned Florence and Venice in addition to Rome, Will had applied himself to learning Italian and, while he was far from fluent, he equally wasn’t appalling. His Italian was certainly better than his German. It was definitely good enough that he understood the wife of the Director of Opera when she said that he and Hannibal made a beautiful couple and that it was a pleasure to see a couple that were so clearly in love.

Less than ten minutes later, Will had to remind himself that he loved Hannibal when several couples started waltzing on the freshly cleared floor and Hannibal held a hand out expectantly. Will should have guessed that this was going to happen at some point during the evening; the venue was perfect for this kind of thing and they had had a string quartet from the Accademia playing for the whole event. Despite his reluctance, he only kept Hannibal waiting a short while before he accepted the hand that hadn’t wavered while Will had made his decision.

“I hope you know what you’re doing asking me to dance. Unless I’m very much mistaken, this is a waltz. You may have forgotten Cuba, but I doubt your feet have and that was just a salsa.”

“You should have more faith in your abilities. Beyond that, you need to do nothing other than trust in me to steer us correctly.”

“I trust you. You haven’t steered us wrong so far on this trip.”

It was very different to dancing salsa in Cuba. Back then, the entire club had been in darkness and no-one had really been able to tell what anyone else was doing. Now, given the number of chandeliers that hung from the ceiling, every guest could see every single movement made by those dancing. They were exposed and being observed by all the guests and the only thing that stopped Will from panicking was if he closed his eyes and blocked them out. Instead, he focused on Hannibal. How he was pressed against Hannibal’s strong chest, how Hannibal’s arms encased him firmly and the confidence in every single movement that he made, moving them gracefully around the dance floor. And then, as though the sensations weren’t overwhelming enough already, Hannibal began to whisper in his ear, even as he continued to whisk Will around the dance floor.

“ _Allegro mi sembrava Amor tinendo meo core in mano, e ne le braccia avea signore involta in un drappo dormendo. Poi lo svegliò, e d’esto core ardendo lui paventosa.”_

The way that Hannibal’s voice slid over the Italian, caressing it and smooth as molasses, had Will swallowing heavily and very grateful that Hannibal’s body hid Will’s reaction to it. He didn’t understand the whole thing but had recognised the words ‘love’ and ‘my heart’. However, before he could ask as to the meaning, Hannibal wrong-footed him. Will couldn’t hide his reaction when, out of nowhere, Hannibal dipped him towards the floor. His eyes flew open in shock, meeting Hannibal’s amused gaze as his grasp on Hannibal’s shoulder and hand tightened. Ears burning, he could hear the whispers of the other guests around them and was grateful when Hannibal righted them and he could focus his gaze on Hannibal’s neck and try to block them out again.

“What was it that you said before?”

“It was an excerpt from the third chapter of Dante’s La Vita Nuova. _Joyfully Love seemed to me to hold my heart in his hand, and held in his arms my lord wrapped in a cloth sleeping. Then he woke him, and my burning heart He fed him reverently._ Every word of it is true. If I thought you would welcome it, I would gladly offer you my burning heart.”

Will brushed a hand over Hannibal’s cheek as the last strains of the waltz faded into the air. “I don’t need you to offer me your burning heart, I already know that I hold it. But, were it to be offered, I would consume it. Just as you would mine.”

Raising his eyes, Will caught Hannibal’s gaze, seeing a softness there that he had only ever seen directed towards himself or Abigail or when Hannibal spoke of Mischa, along with a wealth of emotion. Abandoning his usual dislike of public displays of affection, Will reached up and pressed his lips to Hannibal’s, trying to convey everything that he was feeling, even if he did break away after barely a minute. Thankfully, Hannibal seemed to realise that Will was feeling overwhelmed and acted accordingly.

Given that he was not only feeling a little overheated from the waltz, having Hannibal mutter Dante in his ear and his own rather out of character public display of affection, Will was grateful when Hannibal directed him through the crowd and out to the balcony, swiping two flutes of champagne as he did so. There was a slight breeze which helped to cool Will’s flushed cheeks as he willed his fluttering heart to calm down. How did Hannibal have this effect on him? He was a grown man in his late-thirties who had been married not some teenage schoolgirl in the flush of first love? Seriously, he should be rolling his eyes when Hannibal pulled this ridiculous cheesy shit that belonged in a romantic-comedy, not going weak at the knees and encouraging it.

Even so, he made no complaint when Hannibal pressed him against the stone balustrade and plucked the half-empty champagne flute from Will’s hand. To Will’s minor aggravation, Hannibal looked completely unaffected by their little show, bar a couple of strands of hair that had made a valiant – and ultimately successful – attempt at escaping from their normally slick prison. And then Will looked up and made eye contact with Hannibal and his breath caught in his chest. Hannibal _was_ affected, he was simply doing a far better job of hiding it than Will. In Hannibal’s eyes swirled a myriad of desires and promises.

The kiss, when it finally happened, was soft and barely more than a brush of lips. But the wealth of emotion that accompanied it was overwhelming, and Will had to close his eyes when they parted, their foreheads resting together, both of them revelling in the intimacy of the moment.

“Professore Moretti? Signor Moretti?”

The growl that vibrated in Hannibal’s chest at the rude interruption was barely audible and Will barely restrained his own. They turned to see who had interrupted them and were greeted by a rather handsome man in his mid-twenties. Looking closer, Will recognised him as an American student in the Accademia’s postgraduate programme, who had been introduced as the lead tenor for Tosca. Once the man saw that he had their attention, a rather ugly smirk twisted his features.

“Or should that be Hannibal the Cannibal and his little former-FBI pet psycho?”

Will stiffened, and he could feel Hannibal tense next to him, like a predator preparing to strike. Still, the young man continued to speak, blase about the threat posed to him.

“I’m right, aren’t I? Hannibal Lecter, the infamous Chesapeake Ripper, and Will Graham, the FBI profiler who betrayed his colleagues and his job.”

“What makes you believe that?”

“You were headline news for weeks after you killed the Tooth Fairy and then disappeared. Your faces were on every news outlet as people speculated what had happened to you. Some people thought you’d died, others speculated that you’d run off and were hiding in some foreign country. Never thought I’d find you playing music teacher in Italy.”

“And now you believe you’ve found us, what do you intend to do with this knowledge? Inform the FBI?”

“Eventually. Before that, there are some people who would be very interested in information confirming your survival and about your whereabouts. I believe you know Freddie Lounds and TattleCrime?”

“We’re acquainted with her work and Miss Lounds herself, yes.”

“I believe she’ll pay well for news of the infamous Murder Husbands. Maybe even well enough to fund the rest of my time at the opera studio.” The man gave a shallow, mocking bow as he backed off the balcony and back into the ballroom, “gentlemen.”

Will kept his gaze on the balcony doors, even once the man had disappeared from view, as he spoke. “Are we really going to just let him go? There's no way that Freddie will be able to resist this bit of news.”

“I'm perfectly aware of that.”

Will turned his head as Hannibal moved behind him, a solid presence that both calmed and reassured Will. “You have a plan already.”

“I do. It just needs the last few pieces to fall into place. I will know for certain in the morning. For now, I believe more champagne is in order and perhaps my husband can be prevailed upon to dance with me once more?”

Will arched an eyebrow. “Keeping up appearances, Professore?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps I just like dancing with you.”

“In which case, we can add masochist to the vast list of descriptors that apply to you.”

“You have a list?”

Will didn't have to be able to see Hannibal to know his expression. “No. I am not enumerating a list for the sole purpose of inflating your ego.”

Hannibal's response was to pull Will back against him hard, nipping at Will's jaw before mouthing kisses down his throat and returning to suckle at Will's pulse point. “Please. Indulge me.”

“Do I not anyway?” Will moaned when his answer got him a taste of Hannibal's fangs against the sensitive skin of his throat. “Fine. You wanted the list, you've got it. Brilliant, sophisticated, sadistic, masochistic, cultured,” Will tilted his head to give more room for Hannibal’s mouth. “Perfectionist, narcissistic, sociopathic, cannibalistic, romantic, artistic.” Will moaned as Hannibal’s grip tightened enough that there was no doubt Will’s hips would bear the imprint of his fingers. “ _Mine.”_

This time, the sound of that escaped Will’s lips was more of a whimper than a moan as Hannibal’s hand wrapped around his throat, wresting his head to the side for an all-consuming kiss. Will fought against Hannibal’s cast-iron grip until he could turn around and plaster himself to Hannibal’s torso, kissing back hungrily. When they broke apart, all but panting for air, Will took smug pleasure in the fact that Hannibal was visibly affected. Admittedly, it wasn’t going to be visible to anyone else but Will would know and that was all that mattered. Unable to resist teasing, he trailed one finger up the straining fabric over Hannibal’s groin.

“Did you still want that second dance and champagne?”

Hannibal’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed heavily and Will had no doubt that he would pay for his teasing. “I believe it would be best if we retired and continued our evening at home. I shall make my excuses to our hosts.”

Will smirked as Hannibal walked away a little stiffly as opposed to with his usual leonine grace. He may still not be fond of things that required him to be sociable, certainly not as much as Hannibal would like, but the little things like this made them far more bearable. Now, they just had to deal with Freddie so that their Grand European Tour wasn’t over just as Will was starting to enjoy himself.

~*~

Without doubt, one of Will’s favourite things about life with Hannibal - apart from the food - was waking up in the morning. Regardless of where they were, what they had been doing, mornings were sacrosanct. Mornings were for them; waking up entangled in each other, slow, sleepy morning sex and sweet kisses. If Will was really lucky, then it meant both breakfast and Hannibal in bed. That was definitely what he had been hoping for this morning. At least it had been before the gala reception. Yet, even with the threat of their survival being revealed by Freddie hanging over them, Will refused to let it ruin their morning. As such, he infinitely preferred keeping up the pretence that he was asleep with his fingers tangled in Hannibal’s pelt just in case. It never failed to fascinate Will how hirsute Hannibal was, when compared to Will’s own sparse offering, and he loved the feeling of it against his skin.  For the moment though, it would appear that Hannibal had more important priorities than morning sex.

“It would seem that tenors thrive upon making our lives more problematic.”

“Hmmm?” Will wasn’t going to lie; he hadn’t been listening to whatever Hannibal had said. Instead, he had been far more pleasurably distracted by the rumble of Hannibal’s voice in his chest where it pillowed Will’s head, and by the feel of his fingers scratching through Hannibal’s veritable rug of chest hair. If Hannibal knew that he was no longer asleep, then he was going to enjoy himself. Of course, Hannibal apparently knew that and, tangling his fingers in Will's curls, gave a sharp tug to gain his attention.

“Our young Cavaradossi wasted no time. He has spoken to Ms Lounds and she has updated Tattle Crime accordingly. Listen. ‘ _Murder Husbands Survive?’_ As always, you can rely upon Tattle Crime to have the latest scoops. Tattle Crime has been given information that the infamous murder husbands Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham are alive and currently residing in Italy. For those of you who don’t remember, Hannibal Lecter - a previously highly respected psychiatrist, former surgeon and darling of Baltimore’s social scene - was revealed to be the Chesapeake Ripper and, after three years imprisonment, disappeared with Will Graham - a teacher and FBI special agent formerly imprisoned for the Ripper killings - having killed the Tooth Fairy, Francis Dolarhyde.  Your intrepid reporter will be flying out to Italy as soon as possible to discover the truth of the reports. Stay tuned for more information.”

“No mention that she's told the FBI but that doesn't mean anything.”

“Indeed not. I would perhaps go so far as to say that dear old Uncle Jack will only abandon the chase when he's dead and buried.”

Those words stuck with Will and for the first time he couldn’t help but wonder if, should it come down to it, they would have to kill Jack. Hannibal was right. Jack was tenacious and he wouldn’t give up without a fight. He had proven that with his dogged hunt for the Chesapeake Ripper. With his willingness to sacrifice everything - personal life, life/work balance, ethics, his reputation and opinion amongst his colleagues - then, realistically, the only way that Jack would give up the hunt was if he was dead. Given his stubborn nature, Will was positive that Jack would cling to life until the very last second in order to see Hannibal and himself given the death sentence or incarcerated for life.

All in all, it basically boiled down to the fact that, if Will wanted a happy ever after with Hannibal where they weren’t looking over their shoulders all the time, could settle down permanently in one place with a dog or two and, okay, a fair amount of murder then they were going to have to kill Jack Crawford. There was simply no other option and Will didn’t really have a problem with that. It wasn’t as though he considered Jack to be a personal friend, close or otherwise. Jack certainly didn’t see Will that way. He may not see him as the fragile teacup anymore as Hannibal had once said, but he certainly saw Will as nothing more than a means to an end, a toy to be used and then discarded when his usefulness had expired. Jack cared nothing for Will’s quirks or feelings - he had proven that over the years by ignoring his needs and the recommendations of various psychologists and psychiatrists that Will was not suited for the field.

No, if it came down to it, Will would feel no remorse at sacrificing Jack for his future with Hannibal. In the end, when death came for Jack Crawford, whenever it might be, it would come at two familiar pairs of hands. Somewhat surprisingly - or maybe not - Will didn’t have a problem with that. Besides, that was a problem for the future. Jack could wait. They had a more immediate red-headed problem.

“So, what do we do about Freddie?”

“Well, unfortunately for Miss Lounds, it would appear that the last direct flights from both Baltimore and Washington as well as the immediate vicinity sold out in quick succession either late last night or in the early hours of this morning.”

Will scratched his hand through Hannibal’s chest hair, as though he were petting a large cat. “I wonder how that happened.”

“Indeed. In addition, all flights through London or Paris will be subject to delays due to strikes by airport staff.”

Will chuckled in disbelief. One day, maybe, he would understand how things just fell into place when it came to Hannibal’s plans. “Isn’t that a coincidence. So, at best, Freddie arrives this evening or tomorrow morning. What’s your plan? Because you clearly have one…”

“What do you know about Tosca?”

“It’s about something? Somewhere? Someone? Someone called Tosca!”

Will couldn’t help but chuckle at the look of exasperation on Hannibal’s face as he rolled them over, wrapping his arms around Hannibal like a limpet as the older man landed solidly on top of him.

“Remind me why I love you again, you terrible boy?”

“Because who else will you, murder and cannibalism and all? In my defence, you know I know nothing about opera.”

“Hmm, I suppose I shall have to forgive you in that case. Very well. Tosca is considerably less complicated than Tosca. Floria Tosca - a singer - is in love with Cavaradossi, a painter. He is friends with Angelotti, a political prisoner on the run. Scarpia, the chief of police, captures Cavaradossi and, in an attempt to save her lover, Tosca betrays Angelotti. Nevertheless, despite Scarpia’s promises to save her lover - by replacing the bullets with blanks - Cavaradossi is shot dead by the firing squad. Having killed Scarpia, Tosca throws herself from the top of Castel Sant’Angelo, unwilling to live without her love.”

It took Will mere minutes to piece together Hannibal’s plan. “You want to replace the bullets with live rounds to take care of our young Cavaradossi and push Freddie from the top of Castel Sant’Angelo.”

“Precisely.”

“Well, the bullets shouldn’t be a problem but how are we going to stall Freddie for long enough?”

“I don’t believe that we will have to. I believe our young Cavaradossi - a Mr Daniel Johnson of Miami - will stall her for us. Based on what he said yesterday, Mr Johnson does not seem to be particularly bothered by our, shall we call them extra-curricular activities. He has contacted Miss Lounds because he believes that she will give him a monetary reward for information as to our whereabouts. It is purely mercenary to fund his time at the opera studio. To that end, he wouldn’t risk missing opening night. He will arrange to meet with her tomorrow evening, flush with the success of opening night.”

“So we wait?”

“We wait.”

“And the bullets?”

“Will be taken care of presently. For now, what would you say to continuing our morning as you originally intended?”

Will let his legs fall open as Hannibal’s fingers trailed down his cleft, rocking his slowly hardening cock against the corded muscles of Hannibal’s thigh. “I’m sure I could be persuaded.” 

~*~

It had been torturous for Will to work on his monograph while they waited until it was time for the performance. He had managed to do some work, but he knew that, in all likelihood, it was rubbish and he would end up scrapping most of it. Nothing could hold his attention - not books, not his monograph, not even Hannibal playing the harpsichord (although that one came close). Had Will been in Wolf Trap he would have made lures, gone fishing or taken his dogs for a walk but those weren’t options anymore. Maybe he needed to talk about future destinations with Hannibal…

In the end, Will was positively eager to get to the opera when the time came. Admittedly, that was something that was becoming more common but, rather than being solely driven by anticipation, this eagerness was driven by fear. Fear that this life with Hannibal was at risk, that they - that Hannibal - was being too cocky when it came to Freddie and the American tenor, that they were underestimating them, and that Will and Hannibal were just walking into a trap. A trap that would see them extradited back to the USA.

Both of them had dressed in dark colours with their later engagement in mind. Will had honestly thought he was over Hannibal’s looks and sartorial choices, but clearly he wasn’t if the gut-wrenching arousal that hit him was anything to go by. Even at the height of his apparent respectability as the darling of the Baltimore social scene, back when Will first met him, Hannibal had had a hint of danger well-hidden beneath his veneer of respectability. Will had seen it when Tobias Budge had been killed in Hannibal’s office.

This was different.

Dressed head to toe in unrelenting black, Hannibal looked intimidating as hell, more like a member of the mafia than a visiting harpsichord professor. He looked good, ridiculously good, and the way that his hair flopped in his eyes and the shirt buttons strained over his chest and belly had Will fighting the urge to drag him back to bed and not let him leave until they were both exhausted, Freddie Lounds and TattleCrime be damned. Alas, that was just a pipe dream, but Will did allow a smug smile to cross his face when Hannibal took his hand as they entered the Teatro della Opera and the looks of appreciation turned to jealousy.

Once inside, they were ushered into a box near the stage where, although a little disappointed that they weren’t alone, Will was relieved to see the familiar face of the Director of Opera’s wife. She seemed delighted to see them and stood up, kissing them both on the cheek as she gestured them into seats next to her.

“I hope you don’t mind, I requested your company. My husband has never sat down and watched the opening night of one of his productions and it’s always nice to have company.”

“I hope we don’t disappoint.”

“Even if your conversation skills were totally lacking, there is little chance of that, young man, with you and your husband looking like you do. Have you seen Tosca before?”

“I haven’t, I’m something of a recent convert to opera.” Will smiled as he felt Hannibal’s fingertips brush against his own, “I’m familiar with the plot though.”

“Well, you’re in a for a treat. I’ve sat through many many operas through the years, thanks to my darling Giacomo, some of them good, more than a few of them appalling, but Tosca has remained my favourite throughout.”

“Then I look forward to it.”

By the end of act one, Will had to agree with her. It was probably his favourite of the operas that they had seen so far. It wasn’t a totally overwhelming bombardment of the senses like the Wagner had been, even Salome to an extent. It had been more intricate than Dido but Will had found the music beautiful, even to his uneducate ear. The socialising at the interval would have been excruciating but, between Hannibal and their box companion, Will found that he wasn’t expected to say anything, merely stand there and agree with them. It was much the same for the second act and interval.

As they third act began, Will found his chest tight with anticipation. Considering that the singers were students, they were consistently excellent, at least to Will’s untrained ear. Grudgingly, he also had to admit that Daniel Johnson was also very good. Will sat a little straighter in his seat as the execution squad marched onto the stage and could feel Hannibal tense minutely, possibly a little concerned as to whether his plan would work. The aria that followed was possibly one of the most beautiful that Will had ever heard and he found his breath caught in his throat.

And then the crack of gunshots rang out around the theatre.

Tosca cried out on stage and then murmurs started to run around the audience as she continued to scream, now calling out for help and both the police and the paramedics. It would seem that their plan had worked. The heavy red velvet curtain descended, hiding the stage from view as the auditorium burst into furious whispering and the house lights rose.

“This isn’t supposed to happen … oh god, is the poor boy actually dead?”

Hannibal did his best to reassure their companion. “It would certainly seems to look that way. A horrible tragedy, if it is indeed the case. However, it would not do to speculate. I suggest that we remain seated and wait for an announcement from the management.”

It wasn’t long before they heard the sound of sirens wailing just outside and the sounds of activity drifted through the heavy red velvet curtain. Not five minutes later - scarcely more than fifteen since the gunshots had rung out - a member of management walked out onto the stage, a microphone in hand.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I am very sorry to announce that, due to an onstage incident, this evening’s performance of Tosca will not be completed. If you would please make your way to the exits, we shall be in contact to arrange for you to return to an alternative production, should you wish it. Thank you for joining us this evening.”

A flurry of whispers broke out as audience members stood and made their way to the exits. Their companion excused herself, citing her need to find her husband, and Will and Hannibal stood as she left. The second that she was out of earshot, Will felt Hannibal’s hand in the small of his back and his lips at Will’s ear.

“Come, we have another appointment to keep.” 

(~*~)

Given the normally strict entrance procedure to the fortress, Will couldn’t help but wonder how Hannibal had managed to finagle this part of the plan, given that it was out of hours. More than that, how was he going to guarantee not only that Freddie turned up but that she got into the fortress? Then again, Freddie hadn’t been caught up at the theatre like they had and it wouldn’t be beyond her to enter during opening hours and then simply hide until the appointed time.

For Will and Hannibal though, they made their way across the Ponte Sant’Angelo and then up through the courtyards taking care to stick to the shadows and out of sight of any CCTV and guards. They had had one inordinately close call where a patrolling guard on the lower levels had come so close to them that Will had been amazed that he hadn’t heard them breathing. Eventually though, they had made it to the terrace directly below the statue of Michael the Archangel, right at the top of the fortress. The two of them melted back into the shadows, awaiting the arrival of Freddie.

They weren’t disappointed. Not fifteen minutes after they arrived, Freddie made her entrance onto the terrace looking very much as though she’d taken her sartorial choices from Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday, the demure look seeming completely out of place with Freddie’s personality. They let her stew for almost ten minutes, watching as she fiddled with her phone and what looked like a recording device that she had attempted to secrete in her handbag. Finally, they took pity on her.

“You've been very naughty, Miss Lounds.”

Freddie spun around when she heard Hannibal's voice emerge from the shadows, followed by its owner and Will. Her only visible response to seeing the two of them alive was a slight widening of her eyes and a rather pronounced swallow. When she spoke, it was seemingly with her usual confidence but both men recognised it for what it was; bluster.

“You said that exact same thing to me once before. At our first meeting.”

“I did, for recording a private conversation between Will and myself, if I remember correctly. It's a shame you failed to learn from your mistake.”

Freddie didn't respond to Hannibal's comment. “So, he was telling the truth. Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham in the flesh. You survived your encounter with the Great Red Dragon. How have you managed to fly under the radar? Where's my informant? Daniel? He was supposed to meet me here fifteen minutes ago.”

Hannibal made a tssk sound. “Late for your first meeting. Not that it matters. I'm terribly sorry to be the one to inform you of this, but Mr Johnson met a rather tragic end earlier this evening during the opening show of Tosca. Blanks were inadvertently exchanged for live rounds; a mistake that is not unheard of. He died onstage during the execution scene.”

“No, not unheard of. Especially not if you're the ones doing the exchange. I suppose it has your usual dramatic flair - sorry, you probably prefer the word artistic, don't you - killing someone onstage. Makes it a little hard to collect the organs though. Or have you given up cannibalism these days?”

Will let Hannibal take the lead, watching and following close behind as he prowled forward as though he were stalking his prey - which in truth he was - an intimidating figure in his all black clothing. “Not if the meat is right. There are some cuts that will never taste good; the flavour leaves a bad taste in the mouth.”

“So, you've killed my informant, how are you going to kill me? I assume that that was your intention in bringing me here.”

Will spoke up finally at that. “Nice to see you aren't as stupid as your previous behaviour would imply, Freddie.”

“Still as rude as ever, Will. I'm surprised your husband hasn't killed you yet. We’ve all heard how he despises the rude. Oh,” a cat like grin that was rather cruel curved Freddie's lips as Will couldn't quite control his minute flinch, “have I hit a nerve there? It's not official yet? The murder husbands haven't actually done the deed and got married.”

“Not yet. You know how particular I am, Miss Lounds. Obviously, that would apply to my wedding as well. There is no sense in rushing something so important.”

“You've set a date then? I suppose it will only be small, seeing as it is Will's second marriage. Can the bride wear white if it isn't their first? Or is that considered déclassé?”

“Shut up, Freddie.” Not for the first time, Will was really regretting not killing Freddie all those years ago when he'd had the chance. As it was, his fingers twitched with the urge to do away with her instantaneously.

“Tell me, Miss Lounds, what do you know about Tosca?”

“Am I supposed to know anything about it?”

“I would be happy to educate you on the subject but first I must ask you to hand me your bag.”

“I'm getting a feeling of deja-vu here.”

“Just hand over the bag, Freddie. There is no need to make this last longer than necessary.”

“What is this? Good murderer, bad murderer? Why do you want my bag?”

“Because there is no way that you’re not recording this entire encounter. Just hand it over or I’ll take it from you.”

Freddie was reluctant, wavering as though she was trying to find some way that she could refuse before she realised that she had no choice and handed it over. Will watched as Hannibal took the small bag and, using his handkerchief, removed the expected recording device and wiped it of their encounter.

“Do you have any other information about this meeting anywhere else? A laptop, anything like that?”

Freddie’s response was slow coming and she didn’t seem happy with it. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

This time, both her expression and her tone were best described as mulish. “There was nothing else to write. My informant wouldn’t give me anything else. Told me to meet him here and that he would tell me everything in person.”

“Good, his greed has served us well. Now, other than the readers of your little publication, who did you tell? The FBI? Our dear old friend Jack Crawford?”

“You don't know? Jack doesn't work for the FBI anymore. He was forced into retirement after your little stunt on the bluff. As for telling anyone, I haven't. Yet. I wanted the scoop first. If the FBI know, then it's because they've read my not-so-little publication.”

Freddie had the morals of an alley-cat, the instincts of a pit-viper and the lies that fell from her tongue came as easily as breathing to her. Yet, gut instinct told Will that, for whatever reason, she wasn't lying. Not about this at least. Will nodded at Hannibal, silently communicating that she was telling the truth for once, before they both moved forward, pressing Freddie back against the balustrade.

“It is a beautiful view, isn’t it? Perhaps not the highest panoramic view in Rome but beautiful nonetheless. The scene that you are currently taking in is the last that Floria Tosca ever saw, the last that you shall ever lay eyes upon.” At Hannibal's words, Freddie's breathing sped up audibly. “You've had several years more than you should have, but your time has come.”

Raw from Freddie's observations and how deep her claws had sunk in, Will didn't even try to hide the regret in his voice. “I should have killed you when I had the chance. Goodbye, Freddie.”

Hannibal didn't say anything, but lifted her enough to put her off balance so that Will could give one hard push off the side of the terrace in a flail of limbs. There was silence for several seconds by before they heard a loud scream that cut out abruptly with a dull thud that had them peering over the edge of the balustrade.

The two of them stood in silence for several long minutes, looking down at the form of Freddie’s body sprawled on the stone cobbles of the Courtyard of the Angel, hair fanning about her prone form. And then, Will felt Hannibal’s hand on his shoulder and it felt as though it was the weight of the world. Bloody Freddie and her barbed comments. Managing to find that one thing you hadn't realised was an issue and bringing it to the surface.

“Will…”

“Not now. I don't want to talk about it, Hannibal.” Will shrugged off Hannibal’s hand. The last thing he wanted was Hannibal prodding at open wounds. “Let's just go before we get caught. Given how loud she screamed, it won’t be long before the guards turn up and find the body.” 

~*~

When Will woke up the following morning, it was like a replay of that morning in Cuba when he'd kissed Hannibal for the first time. He may not have cried himself to sleep, but he was still emotionally and physically exhausted. The similarities set his stomach roiling with nausea. He had spent the whole night tossing and turning and if he'd got an hour's sleep all told, Will would be amazed. It was the first time in months that he had slept alone, and he'd grown accustomed to it. Grown used to the warmth of another person in the bed once more, to the feeling of his chest pressed to Hannibal's back or being wrapped up in that strong embrace. Will couldn’t be without it, but it was hard, now that he knew he wanted more.

They had spent months playing the role of husband for whichever identity they had been inhabiting at the time and Will didn't want to play anymore. He was tired of that. He wanted the real deal. He wants to be Hannibal Lecter’s husband. And there's something he never thought he'd ever say. For better or worse. Til death do them part. The whole works. The problem is, while they've done the whole confession thing and their last two covers have been married, the subject of them - of Hannibal and Will - being married has never come up. He doesn't know how serious Hannibal had been when he had discussed weddings with Freddie.

The temptation to hide is strong, almost overwhelmingly so, but Will has never been a coward. He knows that Hannibal is up thanks to the delicious, rather familiar smells that are drifting through the door, and he isn't going to accomplish anything by hiding in the hitherto unused spare room. If he mans up and actually talks to Hannibal about this then, worst comes to the worst, he has closure. Of course, Hannibal being Hannibal, he refused to play fair.

In the process of transferring the last few plates to the breakfast counter, Hannibal was only wearing his preferred silk pyjama pants in what Will knew was a deliberate choice to soften Will up. Will’s suspicions were confirmed when he reached the counter and saw a whole host of foods that he hadn’t seen in years, foods that he could guarantee that Hannibal had never cooked before. Grits. Buttermilk biscuits. Creole red beans. Eggs. pain perdu. Andouille sausage. Foods from a childhood growing up in Louisiana.

“What’s all this for?”

“I fear I owe you an apology, Will.”

Will felt his heart sink like a stone. “Why’s that?”

“The conversation with Miss Lounds regarding her nickname for us and our current - legal - standing seemed to touch a nerve with you.”

“Hannibal…”

“We have never discussed a more permanent, legal binding together than what we currently share. I was not sure that it was something that would interest you. That it was something you would want to enter into, with me at least. Marriage is not something that I have ever truly considered. Yet, the idea of being bound to you, more so than we are already, appeals to me. More than that, it is something that I find I desire more than I ever thought possible. The way that you reacted to Miss Lounds’ barbs made me hope that it was something you might desire as well.”

Hannibal reached in his pocket and produced a small velvet ring box that he placed on the counter with a soft sound. He then opened it to reveal the gold band that lay inside it. With hands that shook only slightly, Will reached out and plucked it from its home, noticing the words engraved on the inside.

_He is half of my soul, as the poets say._

Whatever Will had been expecting from the morning, it wasn’t this. Even after years of knowing each other, apparently Hannibal was still capable of surprising him. Swallowing heavily, Will took Hannibal’s hand and dropped the ring into his palm, closing Hannibal’s hand around it and encasing it with his own, relieved when his voice came out steady.

“There are overnight trains to Palermo....” 


	6. In te ravviso il sogno ch'io vorrei sempre sognar!

It had been all that they could do to restrain themselves until they burst through the door of their hotel room.

Not just any room. The Honeymoon Suite.

They had done the deed. The Murder Husbands were official.

They had wed in the Norman Chapel in Palermo that formed part of Hannibal’s memory palace and, in an unexpected display of sentiment, Will had managed to arrange it so that they married in the suits that they had been wearing when they had met in the memory palace. He had worried that he had been overly sentimental, but it had been worth it for the slight sheen in Hannibal’s eyes once he had realised the significance.

Of course, in their own inimitable style, they had celebrated once the ceremony was over by murdering the priest that had married them. And the two witnesses that they had picked off the street. Really, it had been necessary. Even though they had played the part of husbands before, both men had been determined that they be officially married under their own names as opposed to fake identities. Neither the priest nor the witnesses hadn’t shown any indication that they had recognised their names, but they hadn’t wanted to take any chances. The only copy of the marriage certificate was currently in Hannibal’s pocket and there was no other evidence of their marriage.

Well, except for the fact that there were currently three bodies displayed in the Norman Chapel, waiting to be found in the morning. Hannibal had originally grumbled that origami hearts made of human bodies weren’t original, that he had done them before. Had made one for Will and left it in this very space. However, he had conceded that there wasn’t really another good way to celebrate their union.

As the door to their suite slammed shut behind them, Will took control and pushed Hannibal up against it, not evening taking a minute before he claimed Hannibal’s lips. Only when breath proved a necessity did Will pull back from Hannibal’s mouth, taking Hannibal’s left hand in his and bringing it to his lips and pressing a kiss to the gold band that now adorned Hannibal’s ring finger, tasting the tang of coppery blood that lingered there. He sucked each of Hannibal’s fingers clean of blood before he let Hannibal’s hand fall to his side.

Will loved the way that Hannibal’s body swayed into him as Will’s hand started to trail its way gently up and down his spine. It was as though Hannibal couldn’t help but arch into the touch, a muted whimper leaving him as Will’s other hand stole down to his hip before reaching round to grasp hold of his ass and pull him further into Will. For his part, Will couldn’t help but relish the noises that he was pulling from Hannibal. Neither of them felt as though they had a designated role in the bedroom, both of them happy to either top or bottom but, even though this wasn’t the first time that he had dominated Hannibal, that he had taken charge when it came to their sex life, it felt different somehow. He pushed Hannibal towards the bed, stripping him of his clothes until he was completely naked, at which point Will pushed him onto the bed, following him down as soon as he had removed his own clothing.

There was no other way to describe Will’s actions other than reverent as he lavished attention on every single inch of Hannibal’s bare skin as it was revealed, lingering on the curve of his neck and the oh-so-tempting collarbones. Nothing escaped Will’s attention as he alternated tiny little nips with gentle kisses along Hannibal’s jaw-line following it up with a dusting of butterfly light kisses along prominent cheekbones until he finally reached the full lips. Hannibal moaned softly and allowed his hands to tangle in Will’s curls as Will bit at his bottom lip gently and then laved it with his tongue before taking possession of Hannibal’s mouth fully.

Directing his attention lower once more and making his way down Hannibal’s body, Will left a trail of kisses, pausing briefly to tease and lap at peaked nipples before leaving a trail of gentle bites along Hannibal’s ribcage. He sucked a livid mark onto one of Hannibal’s hipbones before leaving an identical mark on the opposite hipbone and turning his attention lower. Wrapping his hands around Hannibal’s hips, thumbs pressing into the marks that he had just left, he spread Hannibal’s arse cheeks, taking in the sight and smell of him. He’d never done this before – with any partner - but he wanted to. Dipping his head, he inhaled deeply, eyes flicking up to see Hannibal’s hawk like gaze focused on him. Almost as if he was daring Will to do it.

When nothing more was forthcoming, Will dipped his head and licked a broad swathe across Hannibal’s hole, relishing the musky smell and taste. They had tasted each other’s blood and that had been overwhelming. This was on the same level as that. He didn’t think he’d ever get sick of this. The taste, the scent of Hannibal. It was irresistible. _Hannibal_ was irresistible. Will would definitely be doing this again. He relished the way that he was able to draw Hannibal into being vocal about his pleasure, the way that he was able to draw responses from his husband, to crack that infamous person suit, revelling in the muttered words and phrases in a multitude of languages that ripped themselves from Hannibal’s throat as Will furled his tongue and delved as far into Hannibal’s hole as he could. Loved the way that Hannibal’s fingers clutched at his hair, that Hannibal’s thighs tightened around his head like a vice, ensuring that Hannibal couldn’t move back, even if he wanted to. Doubling his efforts, Will stabbed his tongue into Hannibal, alternating between that, sucking and licking until Hannibal pulled him away, murmuring that he didn’t want to come until Will was inside him.

Pulling back, wiping the excess saliva from his chin, Will took in the sight in front of him. The normally oh-so-perfectly put together Hannibal Lecter looking all debauched and ruined. Swiping his fingers through the pot of lubricant that they had left on the bedside table in anticipation, Will slipped two fingers easily into Hannibal and started to finger him open. Hannibal’s cock hardened even further, lying flush against the slight curve of his belly, as Hannibal pressed back into Will’s fingers, clearly desperate for more; something that Will was more than happy to give him.

When Hannibal attempted turn over, so that he was on his hands and knees, back arched Will stopped him. It might be overly sentimental but, the first time that they made love as a married couple, he wanted it to be face to face. Instead, he slipped a pillow below Hannibal’s hips and lower back, raising them up the necessary amount. As a bit of last minute preparation, he slipped three fingers into Hannibal’s slick hole, giving his ass a cursory stretch before replacing his fingers with his cock, letting the head catch on the rim of Hannibal’s hole.

“I’m going to give you everything you need, Hannibal. I promise, I’ll make this good for you.”

“I know you will, mylimasis.”

Will had to swallow hard at the endearment, it having more of an effect on him than usual. Taking a deep breath, he started to press his cock into the tight warmth of Hannibal’s arse, not stopping until his hips were pressed flush against Hannibal’s upturned arse. There, he paused briefly to regain control over himself, pressing a kiss to Hannibal’s shoulder. When Hannibal pressed back against him, demanding more, Will gave it to him whilst keeping the pace at the speed that Will wanted. He had absolutely no intentions of rushing this. He wanted to remember every single second of this. Wanting to imprint it on his brain. They were conjoined now. Officially. Everything was going to be just as he wanted it.

Will started to move in and out of Hannibal with slow and steady strokes, wringing small, indecipherable sounds from Hannibal and nearly folding him in half with every movement. Will’s hand snuck in between them, wrapping around Hannibal’s hand that was already wrapped around his cock, and stroking Hannibal’s cock in time with his thrusts. Hannibal vocalised a noise that Will hadn’t ever thought he would hear from the other man as he came, spilling himself over their joined hands and his own stomach. As Hannibal came with a scream, convulsing around Will’s cock, Will clamped his teeth down on that spot on Hannibal’s neck, tasting the tang of copper flooding his mouth and feeling Hannibal’s mouth clamp down on the identical spot on Will’s neck, his fangs breaking through the thin skin there. Even as Hannibal’s body was still writhing underneath him as a result of his own release, Will continued thrusting into Hannibal’s body, feeling it tighten and convulse around him. The feeling was overwhelming, and he only managed a few more thrusts before he was lost in his own orgasm, slumping down over Hannibal’s body, even as he pumped him full of his seed.

When Will managed to rouse himself, it was to see that there were unmistakeable tear tracks running down Hannibal’s cheeks. The emotion had been near overwhelming for Will but he was a little surprised by Hannibal’s reaction. He had seen a sheen of tears in Hannibal’s eyes before, but he didn’t think that he’d ever seen the salty liquid spill over onto Hannibal’s cheekbones. He didn’t say anything – what was there that he could say? – but, instead, he dipped his head and kissed away the fluid as tenderly as he could.

The last thing that he wanted was to leave Hannibal, but he knew that the older man would hate it in the morning if they didn’t clean up, so he dragged himself from the bed and padded into the bathroom, dampening a cloth and returning to clean them up. Once they were clean, he slipped into the bed, wrapping his arms around Hannibal and pulling the covers up around them, pressing a kiss to the livid bite mark on Hannibal’s throat.

“When I saw you in the Uffizi Gallery, I said that if I saw you every day forever, I would remember that day for the rest of my life. This day will join that one. I will see you every day forever, but I will never forget this day, Will Graham.”

Will kissed Hannibal’s shoulder, the bite mark and then his lips. “I believe that’s Will Lecter-Graham. And you’re absolutely right. You won’t forget it, because I won’t let you.”

“What did I do to deserve you?”

Will couldn’t resist quipping, “something truly terrible. You owe me a honeymoon, Hannibal.”

“Indeed, I do. I believe I promised you Florence, did I not? Florence as it should have been.”

“I’m counting on it.”

 

 


	7. Sempre libera

It had finally happened. It had taken a long time, but Will finally felt settled both in himself and in his relationship with Hannibal. He didn’t know if it was the solid weight of the gold band on his finger, placed there by Hannibal not **three** months ago or the time spent in Florence exorcising their demons, but a weight had been lifted from him and he was content. More than that, he was happy.

La Dolce Vita.

The sweet life. The good life. Will had watched the film when he was a kid, or at least enough of it to know what was going on. Only, where the films protagonist had failed in his search for love and happiness, Will had succeeded. The only thing that would make Will even happier would be a dog or two, but he was learning to pick his battles with Hannibal and he knew that he needed just a little bit longer to bring him round to the idea. Whilst a dog would enhance Will’s happiness, he was more than happy as it was.

Venice had welcomed them with open arms. Dr Guglielmo Favino and his husband Achille – Will had rolled his eyes at that - were the newest darlings of the Venetian cultural scene and, for once, it was Will who was gainfully employed. While Hannibal filled his days sitting on several boards or wandering around the streets and museums of Venice sketching, Will had set up a private psychiatric practice.

His clients thought that they were lucky to be among the few that he treated but, in reality, Will just wanted enough patients to ensure that he didn’t get bored. Besides, between his empathy, the number of psychiatrists he had seen over the years and those in the profession that he had considered friends, Will knew as much as, if not more than, the average hack. And, when it came to most of his patients, all he needed to do was soothe inflated egos; something that he had plenty of practise doing when it came to Hannibal. Not that he’d ever tell his husband that. He’d got into enough trouble with Hannibal for his reaction to Hannibal’s choice of name.

The house that they were renting was in the San Marco district, right on the Grand Canal and came with its own private boat mooring which, Will assumed, was the reason that Hannibal had chosen it. Although it wasn’t as opulent as it could have been, it was bigger than the apartments they had lived in in both Rome and Florence and probably of a similar size to their Cuban home. Of course, the reason for Hannibal’s choice became apparent when Will discovered the door that led to the lower levels. Surrounded on two sides by the waters of the Grand Canal, it was clear that Hannibal intended to turn it into his Italian murder basement. When Will had questioned him about it, the answers made it clear that Hannibal had thought things through. Given the number of visitors that Venice received each year it would, in theory, be relatively easy for them to pick people who wouldn’t be missed, and transportation of the bodies was made easier by Will’s boat and their private mooring.

Hannibal was in his element now that he was able to hunt regularly once more without fear of getting caught. Their meals - none of which could ever be described as plain - became more and more elaborate until virtually every single one of them could qualify as a feast. So much so, that Will knew it could only be a matter of time before Hannibal broached the subject of dinner parties.

Even knowing the source of the protein and the fact that Hannibal wasn't able to be as scrupulous in his choices as before didn't give Will cause for concern. Every single thing that Hannibal served from his kitchen was a pleasurable assault on the senses and Will would be stupid to complain or refuse any of it. It wasn't as though he hadn't known that Hannibal would go back to his old ways the minute that he could do so without getting caught and besides, hadn’t he promised Hannibal in Bayreuth that the last thing he wanted to do was tame him or keep him on a leash?

Given that he'd spent weeks eating at Hannibal's table _before_ various events unfolded, it wasn't as though he had an issue with the protein being served. However, it might be interesting to see it from the other side. Will had never attended one of Hannibal’s dinner parties except for the one in Dresden and, now that Will came to think about it, there hadn’t been one since they’d arrived in Italy; something which had to be driving Hannibal mad. It would be interesting to be in on the joke, to see all of those people waxing lyrical about Hannibal’s culinary skills, not realising just what they were eating. No, if Hannibal made noises about wanting to throw a dinner party, Will would be inclined to indulge him.

Amazing food, amazing sex, plenty of opportunities to go fishing and a pretty amazing husband (not that he'd admit that to Hannibal otherwise his ego would get so big there wouldn't be space in their bed for Will).

All in all, life in Venice was pretty damn good. 

~*~

Despite his ease at dealing with most of his patients, there was one who was particularly problematic for Will. Chiara Kopatchinskaya was a soprano in her mid-forties, approaching the end of her career but refusing to accept it. Of mixed Russian-Venetian heritage, she was a regular on the stage at La Fenice and something of a notorious man-eater. Previously married three-times, she was ostensibly a patient of Will’s to get over the demise of her third marriage. However, it was quickly becoming apparent that she was only interested in the possibility of husband number four and she had set her sights on Will despite the ring on his finger.

"Signora Kopatchinskaya..."

"Dottore, please, call me Chiara. There is no need for you to be so formal."

"There is every need, Signora; I am your doctor. We have a professional relationship. Beyond that, it cannot have escaped your notice that I am a married man. A very happily married man at that."

"In my experience – and I have plenty - there is no such thing as a happily married man. I can assure you that your husband will not mind us having a little dalliance. He may even be indulging in one of his own? Or perhaps he might even like to join us? He is a very handsome man after all."

"As I said, I'm a very happily married man, with no interest in a dalliance of any sort. Even if I were, I can guarantee that Achille would mind very much. My husband is not only a jealous man but a very possessive one, and it would not bode well for anyone involved." 

“You say that, but I have no doubt that I would be able to change his mind.”

“I doubt that very much, Signora. If you are not willing to modify your behaviour, then I’m afraid I will have to refer you on to another psychiatrist.”

“Dottore! Please, I promise. I will not give you any cause for concern. There is no need to stop treating me.”

“Very well. In which case, I believe that is our time finished. I shall see you next week.”

“Until then, Dottore Favino.” 

(~*~)

Her promises notwithstanding, Signora Kopatchinskaya failed to leave Will alone. It would appear that she was Franklyn Froideveaux the second. Somehow, she managed to be there when Will and Hannibal went shopping, when they occasionally went out for dinner, on the few occasions that Hannibal managed to persuade Will to join him for a stroll around one of the many museums, when Will went fishing. It was all getting more than a little exasperating and, one afternoon, Hannibal had clearly reached his limits.

Will was just ending his weekly session with his admirer when, without any warning whatsoever, Hannibal came into the room that Will used to treat his patients.

“Oh! My apologies, caro. I thought you were done for the day; I hadn’t realised you were still with a patient.”

Will arched an eyebrow. There was no way that Hannibal had made a mistake. No, undoubtedly, he had caught onto Chiara’s infatuation and wanted to stake his claim. Given that she clearly had no intention of listening to Will and his insistence that he and Hannibal were very happy together, Will didn’t really have a problem with Hannibal’s actions. “It’s not a problem, tesoro. Signora Kopatchinskaya and I are nearly finished. I shouldn’t be more than ten minutes.”

“Very well. I shall start to prepare dinner and see you upstairs, Innamorato. My sincere apologies, Signora, I did not mean to intrude upon your session.” With a shallow bow, Hannibal disappeared through the door, his retreating footsteps heard as he ascended the stairs to their private accommodation.

“Your husband is very affectionate.”

“Yes, we’re still very much in love. However, we’re not here to discuss my husband, we’re here to talk about you Signora. Now, where were we?”

It was not ten minutes later when Will retreated upstairs having finally ushered the reluctant woman out of the door, plastering himself against Hannibal’s back where he was stood at the cooker. “Who’s for dinner tonight?”

“That American who kicked the dog in Piazza San Marco two weeks ago. I am serving him as Fegato alla veneziana accompanied by a creamy polenta.”

“Hmmm, sounds good.” Will was silent for several long moments. “I’m starting to understand why you despised that patient of yours all those years ago.”

“Which patient? There were very few of them that I didn’t despise.”

“The one who got killed in your office when the serial killer who wasn’t you came to visit.” Will could feel the laugh shake Hannibal’s ribcage.

“Ah, Franklyn. Yes, Mr Froideveaux was a particularly exasperating patient. He was utterly convinced that we should be the best of friends and would turn up in all sorts of places that I frequented. I tried to refer him on numerous occasions, but he was so enamoured with me that he refused every single time. Quite frankly, he was lucky that I resisted killing him as long as I did. Mr Budge came along at a rather fortuitous time.”

“How did you resist killing more of your patients?”

“My poor Will, are you suffering?”

Will pinched Hannibal’s belly at the teasing tone of his voice. “Yes. No. It’s just her, Signora Kopatchinskaya. She won’t take no for an answer and she’s fixated upon me. She’s like the female Franklyn. It doesn’t matter how many times that I tell her I’m a very happily married man,” Will squeezed his arms tighter around Hannibal’s waist, “she simply won’t accept it. She’s convinced that I’ll fall for her charms at some point and, in an attempt to persuade me, suggested that we have a threesome.”

“Is that so?”

Could Will be bothered to remove his face from where it was pressed against Hannibal’s back, he would see that Hannibal’s knuckles were blanched white against the knife that he was using. If Signora Kopatchinskaya wouldn’t accept Will’s words, then perhaps it was time to try and persuade her by other methods. **  
**

~*~

“I'm sorry, you want me to wear what?” The flat tone of Will's voice was testament to how unimpressed he was.

“This costume and I have a mask for you as well.”

“And is there a particular reason that you want me to wear that ridiculous get-up? I have worn countless designer suits for you and penguin suits without complaint.” Will amended his statement at Hannibal's arched eyebrow and dry remark of really, “okay, so less complaining than there could have been.”

“Because we have tickets for Il Ballo del Doge this evening and period costume is a prerequisite of entry to the palace.”

“A ball. Really, Hannibal? Do you not remember a conversation in Rome where I called you a masochist over one waltz - singular? In what possible universe do you think I would be eager to go to a ball?”

“Would it make you feel better if I promised that the dancing would be kept to a minimum? It's more about the spectacle anyway. Each year, the ball has a theme and this year it is ‘The Magnificent Ephemeral: In Praise of Dream, Folly and Sin’. There will be dinner and plenty of performances to watch. One dance, two at the most.”

“Oh god, it even sounds pretentious. It’s the epitome of wanky elitism. Why am I not surprised you want to go? It’s right up your street.”

“Awful creature.” Hannibal stroked his thumb over the scar on Will’s cheek, exposed now that Will was clean-shaven and being passed off as an injury from a previous patient. “Does that mean you will go?”

“If you ever make me go to anything like this ever again, I _will_ leave you.” The words left Will’s mouth but even he knew that they sounded weak.

Hannibal knew it as well. “You say that, but you know that neither of us can truly exist without the other. I promise you though, I will not force you to endure anything like this again.”

After Hannibal’s promise, Will allowed himself to be dressed like a doll and, when the two of them stood in front of the mirror, Hannibal’s arm hooked around Will’s waist, he couldn’t deny that they looked amazing. Both of them were dressed in unrelenting shades of black and midnight blue with gold and silver embroidery. Refined, mysterious, dangerous and undeniably attractive. Their faces were obscured by masks that almost hid their whole face with towering antlers on top, Will’s in the form of the Ravenstag that had once haunted his dreams and Hannibal’s as the mythical Wendigo. God knows how Hannibal had found them in Venice, but this was Hannibal so the impossible wasn’t actually impossible. **  
**

(~*~)

There was no denying whatsoever that the Palazzo Pisani Moretta and Il Ballo del Doge was utterly spectacular. The meal might not have been made with their usually preferred protein, or been up to Hannibal’s standards, but it featured many Venetian delicacies which meant lots of sea food, so Will was happy at least. There were far too many people for Will to feel truly comfortable but, at least the masks meant that he wasn’t expected to make eye contact with anyone. The performances from opera singers, musicians, dancers, burlesque stars and characters from the Commedia dell’Arte were wonderful and then Will felt a touch that was far too familiar in the crowd and turned to see a familiar face, barely hidden behind the partial mask she was wearing.

Hannibal’s growl when he realised that Kopatchinskaya was present and had – heedless of the masks that everyone present was wearing – managed to find them was positively bestial. He was starting to get sick of this and he couldn’t continue attempting to slake his anger by murdering women who resembled the singer infinitely. After all, when Will had found out, it had garnered him a lecture and several nights sleeping in the spare room. No, perhaps it was time to consider other methods.

Taking Will by the hand, he led him to one of the smaller salons that was open but not currently occupied, completely aware of the woman following them at what she thought was a safe distance to remain unnoticed. Not bothering to shut the doors properly, Hannibal pushed Will over to the small love-seat and took his lips in a filthy kiss, not bothering to remove their masks but making sure that they could be seen by the pair of eyes peering through the partially open doors.

Will didn’t question Hannibal’s actions, simply wrapped his arms around Hannibal’s neck and responded in kind. It was only when Hannibal pulled away the cravat that had been driving Will crazy all evening so as to better access – and mark – Will’s neck that Will realised they weren’t alone. Kopatchinskaya had talked about the Doge’s Ball in several of her appointments and, unlike many of the masks present, hers did little to hide her face. She had clearly followed them, just as Hannibal intended. Will smirked; two could play at Hannibal’s game and Will was an excellent opponent. Tilting his head so that the antlers of their stupidly ostentatious masks didn’t get tangled together, he started to whisper in Hannibal’s ear.

“I want you to fuck me. Right here, right now. I want you to claim me so that there is no way she doesn’t know I’m yours.”

“Yesssss.”

The sibilance of Hannibal’s response had Will squirming at the sensation against his skin. But then he felt Hannibal fumbling for something and then the unmistakeable sound of foil crinkling and he pulled back just to in time to see Hannibal pull a small packet of lubricant from the folds of his outfit almost triumphantly.

“You planned this.”

“I did, but you knew that already. Are you shocked? Surprised?”

“Not really? More surprised by the level to which you planned it. Then again, it’s you; I should have guessed. I wasn’t really expecting the lube though; not really in keeping with the period costume.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No, I want you to do what I told you to; make sure she knows who I belong to.”

Hannibal didn’t respond, simply kissed Will deeply, sliding his fingers into the riotous curls as best as he could without disturbing the ribbon that kept the mask fixed in place. Will was hardly surprised; one thing he had discovered was that, as well as having something of a fixation on Will’s ass, Hannibal had a thing for Will’s curls and would run his fingers through them whenever possible. Indeed, he had been quite upset when Will had had them cropped close while they were in Cuba.

For his part, Will had his own fascination with Hannibal’s hair. With each new city, Hannibal relaxed a little more. Yes, he still wore suits nine days out of ten but not always with a tie and they weren’t all as stuffy as they had been back in Baltimore. It was still, however, Will’s fondest wish that he would one day get Hannibal in a pair of jeans, maybe even a pair of waders. One thing that had definitely relaxed, however, was Hannibal’s hair. In stark contrast to the days of their conversations, when it had been ruthlessly gelled into place, it now hung soft and feathery in Hannibal’s face. Or, at least, the front strands did. The back was now long enough that Hannibal could bind it back with a strip of ribbon or hair tie, even if Will would remove said tie at every possible opportunity. Just like now. As Hannibal slid a hand down the back of Will’s trousers, a lubricated finger pressing against Will’s entrance before it slipped inside, Will undid the ribbon and threaded his fingers through tawny locks now shot through with a bit more silver than when they had first met.

As Hannibal pressed a second finger followed by a third inside Will, stretching and scissoring, preparing him for Hannibal’s cock, Will tightened his fingers in Hannibal’s hair as he thrashed his head from side to side, the mask just barely staying in place.

"Ha-uh-Achille!” Will caught himself at the last minute before he called Hannibal by his real name. And then Hannibal crooked his fingers just so and Will’s eyes fluttered closed. “Please. More. I need more."

"Very well, amore mio. If you want more, then more you shall have."

Will howled as Hannibal removed his fingers and pulled the trousers down Will's body, while he merely freed his own cock from the confines of his costume enough that he could slick it with the remaining lubricant, ensuring that there was no way that they were leaving this ball looking remotely respectable but also guaranteeing that they weren’t going to get their deposit back. The trousers had barely reached his knees before Will felt the tip of Hannibal's cock press against his loosened entrance only to pause and make no further movement. With the impediment of his trousers and underwear being removed, Will had no intention of waiting any longer and took matters into his own hands.

Spreading his thighs, he wound his legs around Hannibal's hips and shoved backwards, keening as he sheathed Hannibal's cock completely within him. There, he paused, breathing heavily, waiting for his body to adjust to the sensation of Hannibal's cock filling him completely and utterly, more than any other man he'd ever slept with. Shifting his hips minutely, Will spread his legs wider until he could feel a delicious burn in his inner thighs and Hannibal's weight settled heavily over him.

"Impatient one," Hannibal's tone was chiding. "I would have given you what you wanted. I always do. Eventually."

“True, but I couldn’t wait.” Looking up, Will could find amusement as well as a certain smugness in Hannibal's eyes. Clenching deliberately around Hannibal's cock, Will gave a somewhat breathless yet victorious chuckle as Hannibal's eyes rolled back in his skull at the sensation.

And then it was Will’s turn to gasp as Hannibal thrust his hips a little more, completely burying himself inside Will.

Hannibal wasted no time in starting slowly, instead he drove straight in, pulling back until just the head of his cock was still inside Will and then slamming in to the root. Each thrust was powerful enough that Will was being pushed across the tiny sofa, the whole thing threatening to slide across the floor, and Will simply encouraged Hannibal’s movements, digging his heels into the back of Hannibal’s thighs and pressing his knees into Hannibal’s ribs. Will spared half a thought to taking his cock in hand and brought his hand down only for it to be batted away as Hannibal took both his hands and pinioned them out to his sides.

“You’re going to come on my cock alone.”

Will considered arguing only to change his mind as Hannibal adjusted the angle of his thrusts and raked his cock over Will’s prostate once more. From then on, all Will could do was hang on for the ride, not bothering to try and mute any of the sounds escaping him. He wanted her to hear just how much pleasure Hannibal brought him, every single moan, gasp and plea for more. If any of the other guests heard them, well they could just enjoy the show. The iron grip that Hannibal had on his hands prevented Will from raking his fingernails over Hannibal’s back as he was wont to do, so instead Will satisfied himself with leaving bite marks over whatever parts of Hannibal’s neck he could. In response, Hannibal pressed himself more firmly over Will so that Will’s cock was rubbing against the sumptuous fabrics of Hannibal’s costume, leaking copious amounts of pre-come. Yeah, there was no way that they were getting their deposit back.

Will cried out loudly as Hannibal sank his teeth into Will’s neck, his pointed fangs drawing blood and making Will’s cock twitch. Unsurprisingly, the addition of blood made it feel as though Hannibal’s cock grew even harder within him and Will would be lying if he said that it didn’t make him even more turned on. He bit back in retaliation, his own less pointed teeth breaking the skin of Hannibal’s neck and drawing blood, revelling in the sound that Hannibal made; the second bestial growl of the evening but this was in pleasure rather than anger.

There was no doubt about it, by his actions Hannibal was laying claim to Will in the most base, carnal way that he could. Will wasn’t protesting at all. He didn’t care that they were being watched. Far from it. Instead, Will revelled in the fact that she could see everything, could hear as Will moaned and writhed under Hannibal, begging him for more. Revelled in the fact that he was being claimed by Hannibal, just as he had been before, just as he would be in the future. Just as he claimed Hannibal in return.

Never having considered himself an exhibitionist, Will was turned on by the power-play that Hannibal was indulging in, the sensations that were being evoked in him that one more powerful thrust that simply battered against his prostate in combination with leaving an identical bloody bite on the unmarked side of Will’s neck was all he needed and he came with a scream, convulsing around Hannibal’s cock as his come spread between them. Will’s legs fell back to the sofa, laying limp in the wake of his orgasm as Hannibal gave three more thrusts before slamming into Will one last time and coming with a roar of “Mio”, looking deliberately at their voyeur as he did so and baring his bloody teeth in a snarl.

This woman would either learn from this or Hannibal would take more extreme measures that were almost but not quite as pleasurable.

For him, at least. The Signora wouldn’t enjoy them at all. **  
**

~*~

Hannibal found himself in a rather cheerful mood as he made his way to the board meeting of the Teatro La Fenice. With the exception of the chairman – a rather officious, elderly German gentleman by the name of Wolfgang – he found that he rather liked them, in as much as he liked anyone who wasn’t Will. They were certainly far preferable to the people who had been on the board of the Baltimore Symphony. There was even one elderly woman – a Signora Sofia Tulissi – who quite clearly held the reins and reminded him of Mrs Komeda in the process.

All in all, it should prove to be a most pleasant day. He had spent an indulgent morning in bed with Will before preparing them a lunch of squid ink and seafood risotto. Will, having no patients, was planning on taking the boat out while Hannibal was out at his meeting and he would be home in plenty of time for dinner. Hannibal had taken care of the busker that had taken a choice position next to the Bridge of Sighs, claiming it as ‘his spot’, insisting on assaulting the eardrums of all passing visitors with music that was not only poorly technically executed and out of tune, but which also had no musical interpretation whatsoever. In contrast, the screams that he had made in Hannibal’s basement had been music to the ears. Hannibal had used the cuts he had selected to make a good quantity of sausages and would use the remained of the meat as filling for the fresh pasta he planned to serve that evening in a rich, red wine sauce.

His good mood plummeted when he walked into the board meeting room, only to see the face of the one woman in Venice he truly detested. Chiara Kopatchinskaya, resident soprano at Fenice and one of his husbands’ patients. He and Will had laughed about it early on, about the similarities between her and Franklyn Froideveaux but she was so much worse than Franklyn. Yes, Franklyn had refused to accept referrals and had stalked Hannibal, turning up at his preferred deli and artisan markets not to mention the opera, but Signora Kopatchinskaya was on a whole new level. Franklyn, very much like an over-eager puppy, had merely wanted to be Hannibal’s friend whereas this woman, without doubt, wanted to sleep with Hannibal’s husband. Both Hannibal and Will had hoped that, after the events of the Doge’s Ball, she would lose interest but it would seem that their hopes had been in vain. Hannibal fixed the smile on his face that had seen plenty of use as Dr Fell the first time. Maybe it was time to explore other means of dealing with this troublesome singer. He may not be able to snap her neck like Franklyn but that didn’t mean there weren’t alternatives.

“Achille! May I introduce you to Signora Chiara Kopatchinskaya, a wonderful soprano, who has offered to fill the vacant space on our little board. Signora, this is Achille Favino, the newest member of our board before you.”

“The Signora and I are already acquainted. I mistakenly interrupted one of her appointments with my husband. My sincere apologies once again, signora.”

Hannibal saw the flash of anger in dark eyes as one of the other board members commented, “Your husband is a psychiatrist, is he not, Achille?”

“He is indeed and a very good one, at that.”

Hannibal watched with amusement as several board members – including Wolfgang – weighed in on the subject as the Signora became more and more aggravated but clearly trying to remain composed. Her own amusement aside, Signora Tulissi decided to take pity on her.

“Achille, Signora Kopatchinskaya is to play Violetta in Fenice’s new production of La Traviata.”

_That_ caught Hannibal's attention. Mentally, he ran through the plot of the opera. Whilst not the same as the artistry of the Ripper, Hannibal had grown more than a little fond of the pieces he and Will had taken to creating. Works of art orchestrated by them within depictions of the ultimate art form. The appeal to Hannibal on an aesthetic level was overwhelming. And La Traviata? He could work with that. Admittedly it would not be completed using his preferred methods, but it could be worked into one of his other passions. He was certainly more than willing to work with it if it meant that this ten-a-penny soprano aging beyond her prime learnt to keep her hands off things that didn't belong to her. Especially if said thing belonged to Hannibal. Not that he would ever let Will hear him referred to as thus; Hannibal would be in such trouble. Before he got lost in thoughts of how beautiful his Will was when he was angry, Hannibal gave his most charming smile.

“I'm throwing a dinner party for the board at the end of the week. As you are now one of our company, you must come if you're available. That is, if you wouldn't feel too uncomfortable socialising with my husband, given his role as your doctor?”

She all but fell over herself accepting the invitation - no, no, of course it wasn't a problem - and, judging by the small smile on Signora Tulissi’s face, she knew the game that Hannibal was playing, and she approved. He wondered if she would approve quite so much if she knew his true design.

“Do you and the dottore have tickets for La Traviata, Signore Favino? If you don’t, I am given a number of complimentary tickets for each show for very favourable seats.”

“That is very kind of you. I would be delighted to attend and, though my husband may take some persuading, I accept on his behalf as well.”

“If you need any help in persuading the good dottore, I will happily offer my services, Signore.”

Her coquettish smile rankled with Hannibal, but he forced himself to remain polite. Instead, while the board discussed various matters on the agenda, Hannibal mentally changed several items on his menu and made his plans for the future. **  
**

~*~ **  
**

To say that Hannibal had gone all out of the dinner party was an understatement. There was absolutely no doubt that it would have awed his dinner guests from Baltimore with its elaborate nature. Will had simply left him to it and resigned himself to the fact that he would see very little of his husband while he did all of the preparations. He hadn’t been wrong and, in fact, the longest amount of time they spent together in a week was when Hannibal decided that he didn’t have enough meat in the basement freezer to make the recipes he wanted to serve, and they went hunting.

Will had been less than impressed by the revelation that his most exasperating patient had joined the board but had been mollified when Hannibal promised that he would seat her far away from Will and that the only time she would be able to interact with him would be during the hors d’oeuvres and pre-dinner drinks. Unsurprisingly, she had tried to dominate his attention but, luckily for Will, one of the elderly women on the board was more than willing to act as a buffer between them. She also had no compunction in asking Will multiple questions about his relationship history with Hannibal, questions that Will was more than happy to answer if it meant her getting the hint.

He wasn’t totally enamoured with having hired staff in his home, it wasn’t something that he was comfortable with, but he acknowledged that it was something that Hannibal was used to doing and, admittedly, it was a lot easier to cope when Hannibal was there to draw the attention of their guests.

Then again, most of their attention was caught by the beauty of Hannibal’s creations.

Will could hardly blame them. As beautiful as the meals were that Hannibal produced for the two of them, these creations were simply out of this world. If Will hadn’t watched Hannibal make it all he wouldn’t have believe it because, quite frankly, who would believe that one man was capable of all this? Watching Hannibal roll out pasta or knead dough, shirt-sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms with his veins remarkably prominent, was as good as porn. In fact, if he wasn’t as equally possessive as Hannibal, Will could probably film it, market it as porn and earn a fortune.

He watched, hardly eating himself, as they exclaimed over prosciutto hearts, little pastry tarts filled with heart tartare and foie gras timbits. Smiled to himself – and Hannibal – as they speculated as to where Hannibal sourced his ingredients and swore that they needed to ask him for his recipes. And then the man himself appeared from the kitchen, where he’d been supervising the staff that they had hired for the evening as they prepared the main meal.

“Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is served.”

This was a theatrical performance and Hannibal was in his element, completely and utterly.

It was the same once they were seated at the dinner table. Their guests ooh-ed and aah-ed as Hannibal announced each course, from tongues en papillote and coratella con carciofi to traditional Venetian bigoli in salsa and Hannibal’s beloved sanguinaccio dolce for dessert, supervising its delivery from the kitchen to the table before sitting there with an inordinately smug smile on his face as they devoured every mouthful until nothing was left but empty plates. Will wondered what they would think if they knew that the wonderful flavours and beautiful plates were the reason that Venice was short of both a gondolier and a tour guide while several cruises had continued on their way, not realising that they were missing several passengers.

It may be far more socialising than Will was truly comfortable with – although he’d come a long way – but it was worth it for the shared amusement with Hannibal and, for the first time, he could understand why Hannibal had thrown so many dinner parties in Baltimore. There was a feeling of power, almost of superiority, knowing that they were dictating what their guests were putting in their bodies. Will and Hannibal were removing autonomy from their guests and, while it was undeniably wrong, Will couldn’t deny that it felt good.

 ~*~

Signora Kopatchinskaya had been a lot less problematic during her last few appointments, Will had noted with some relief. Part of him had wondered if it was due to the fact that she had been in rehearsals for La Traviata and then focused on the performances once the run started but looking at her now, he was starting to wonder if there wasn’t another reason for her loss of interest in him.

“Are you not going to remove your sunglasses, Signora? It’s not that bright in here.”

“My eyes are just a little sensitive to the light at the moment, Dottore. I’d rather keep them on, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Please,” Will gestured at her to continue, not really listening to what she was talking about, merely making noises of agreement in the appropriate places.

Will certainly wasn’t complaining that she seemed to have lost her rabid obsession. It was so much more pleasant not to have to worry about her appearing around every corner when he and Hannibal were out, and dinner parties were far less stressful when Will didn’t have to worry about Hannibal fondling the cutlery with a murderous look on his face directed towards one of their guests. 

As she had in the vast majority of their appointments, Kopatchinskaya talked for almost forty-five minutes without requiring any input from Will. She periodically blinked her eyes excessively and complained of a headache and dry mouth and throat. However, his head shot up and his eyes narrowed as she slurred her words during a sentence that had already been more than a little confused. There was something going on here. His husband had been awfully smug recently. This had all the hallmarks of being Hannibal-induced mischief. Now all he had to work out was what his beloved husband was up to. And then, just before their session was due to end, Kopatchinskaya stopped talking as she convulsed in her chair.

Moving to the door, Will called for his husband. Hannibal appeared within a minute, further convincing Will that this was his design, particularly when his reaction could only be described as clinical.

“I had wondered when we would reach the convulsion state. Is this the first time?”

“This is bringing back not so fond memories of my encephalitis, Hannibal. Given that you can’t induce that, can I ask what you have done to her?”

“Atropa belladonna.”

“Deadly nightshade? You’ve been poisoning her with deadly nightshade?”

“Yes, a diluted tincture slipped into her food at dinner parties or board meetings or in her glass during your appointments. I did consider arsenic but it’s so much easier to detect post-mortem. If she had picked up on my many hints, then this might not have been necessary, but I cannot be blamed for her stupidity.”

“What did you tell me in Bayreuth when I first wanted to kill that homophobic ass? ‘We cannot kill someone at every single opera we attend’.” Will’s attempted mimicry of Hannibal’s accent earned him an unimpressed look and a pinch to the sensitive skin by his hip.

“Did I not let you kill him in the end? And is a man not allowed to change his mind?”

“Is she not too high-profile? What if we get caught?” 

“We won’t get caught. Belladonna was long-used as a beauty aid and she is known to be vain enough - and desperate enough, as she enters the twilight of her career - to try anything. She’s coming back around; I will leave you to it. Dinner will be ready at seven.”

“The gondolier? The one we had the tongue of at the dinner party?”

“Yes. He has made for a particularly nice ossobuco.”

Hannibal slipped out of the door just as the Signora came back to herself. “I’m so sorry, I’ve been so tired during this run. What was I saying, Dottore? Ah, yes. They’re saying that this run of Violetta is my best performance ever. The critics are in love with me. Will you be honouring me with your presence at a performance before the end of the production?”

“Achille has purchased us tickets for the last performance on Friday.” Will smiled, looking forward to the performance now that he knew more. Hannibal’s plan unfolding in his head. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world.” 

~*~

There was no denying that all of the opera houses they had visited so far had been impressive and, without doubt, absolutely beautiful but Teatro La Fenice was in a class all of its own. Maybe it was the fact that you could get there by boat, but Will had never seen anything so ornate nor so gilded; there was so much gold that you almost felt as though you should wear sunglasses. Hannibal’s position on the board guaranteed them seats in one of the many boxes lining the stage and Will found himself full of eager anticipation as Hannibal guided them there. He even hadn’t complained about dressing up in a tuxedo, mainly because that was nothing compared to what he had been forced to wear for the Doge’s Ball.

As they moved through the corridors, they heard whispers amongst the other patrons. Comments that, while this production was considered to be Signora Kopatchinskaya’s best portrayal of Violetta – indeed, her best performances in years, particularly in her final, dying scenes – hadn’t it sounded as though she was slurring some of her words? And so-and-so’s friend had sat in the front row last night and the Signora had looked completely out of it, almost as though she was confused or even drunk. Will and Hannibal had exchanged conspiratorial glances at that, knowing precisely why she had appeared that way.

Hannibal had warned Will that there was no guarantee that the Signora would die during the performance. Working with poisons, especially in small quantities so that death wasn’t immediate, always carried a considerable amount of risk when it came to timing. An inexact art that Hannibal was not overly fond of; he infinitely preferred his scalpel and the intimacy and elegance it offered. Then again, given the convulsive episode that she had suffered during her appointment, it would imply that the belladonna was firmly in her system and that her time was close.

As the performance got underway, Hannibal’s words seemed almost prophetic. Kopatchinskaya was clearly struggling and it had not gone unnoticed by the discerning audience of La Fenice. How could it when Traviata was, without question, Violetta’s opera. There were missed entries, slurred words, rapid breathing, coughing and more than a little confusion as to where she was supposed to be and even what she was supposed to be doing. Her co-stars on stage were clearly trying to cover for her but weren’t being entirely successful.

Kopatchinskaya’s behaviour during the first act was the only conversation on the lips of the audience during the interval. Speculation was rife as to the cause. While she was clearly getting past her prime, everybody acknowledged that, with the number of times that she had taken this role, she should not be missing cues or forgetting lines. That meant that there had to be another cause. They heard numerous theories posited, mostly revolving around drugs and alcohol addiction. And then, of course, the whispers started that she was seeing a psychiatrist. Why was that? It amused both Will and Hannibal no end.

When they retook their seats for act two, things proceeded in much the same way. There were more missed cues, scrambled lines that were in a mixture of languages and the tension in the opera house was rising as people exchanged disbelieving glances; this was unheard of in the hallowed halls of La Fenice, the very place where La Traviata had been premiered. After one particularly excruciatingly awkward moment, Will leant over to speak to Hannibal.

“When was her last dose?”

“Her last appointment. There was some on the rim of her glass.”

“She seems to be going downhill rapidly…”

“The build up of the toxins will be quite pronounced by now but I would assume that the role is exacerbating the speed with which it is taking effect. Violetta is a tasking role, with the soprano taking most of the performance upon her shoulders. Neither is it easy given her age. I would assume that the two in combination have hastened the end result.”

“Then you think….”

“I believe Signora Kopatchinskaya’s demise is imminent.”

The words had barely left Hannibal’s mouth before there was a commotion on stage. Having been denounced on stage by her lover and all but accused of being a whore, Violetta had fainted to the floor as directed in the libretto. However, Kopatchinskaya wasn’t waking up despite the best efforts of the other singers on stage. The heavy red curtain came rushing down immediately, but it was not quick enough to hide the sight of the figure convulsing on the stage. A member of management appeared, microphone in hand, begging the indulgence of the audience and that they would let them know what was happening as soon as feasibly possible, while Will turned to Hannibal.

“I’m feeling a sense of déjà vu. What are her chances?”

“With the amount she has ingested and the convulsions we have just seen, I would say very little.”

“Good. Now you can be safe in the knowledge that none of my remaining patients are going to try and tempt me away from you.” Will trailed his fingers over the crotch of Hannibal’s tuxedo trousers, leaning in to bite at his ear as he did so. “It’s almost a shame that you couldn’t harvest any of her. I suddenly find myself starving.”

“Well, we can’t have that, can we? She wouldn’t have been suitable given the belladonna in her system but I’m sure that I can find something to your taste.”

“Is that so?”

“How does carpaccio take your fancy? Perfect for a light late-night meal.”

“If it’s carpaccio di rude builder then it takes my fancy very well, particularly if it comes with a side order of my husband.”

“If that is what you wish, then that is what you shall have. I can deny you nothing.”

“Lucky me. Does that mean we can leave now?”

“It would be somewhat rude…”

“Lucky for you that you have a husband with very little social skills that you can blame for your discourteous behaviour then, huh?”

“Fortunate indeed.”

(~*~)

The following morning, the overnight death of Signora Chiara Kopatchinskaya was headline news in all of the Venetian papers. Will smiled as he read it where he sat at the breakfast counter in the kitchen, watching Hannibal prepare them a breakfast of eggs and black pudding, made from a particularly rude man who had been very vocal about his displeasure in a deli that Hannibal favoured, to the extent that he had made the young woman serving him dissolve into tears. Unable to resist, Will slid from his seat and moved across the kitchen, reaching past Hannibal to turn off the stove as he nuzzled up behind Hannibal’s ear, scraping his teeth over his angular jaw.

“Will?”

“Am I not allowed to show appreciation for my husband?”

“Of course.” Hannibal turned, responding eagerly to the kiss that Will was quick to bestow upon him, “I was merely questioning your choice of timing.”

Will cast a glance towards the discarded newspaper, sensing Hannibal’s gaze follow his own. “Let’s just say I was inspired.”

“Then, by all means, appreciate away.”

Will smirked as he reached for the bottle of Hannibal’s over-priced organic, probably hand pressed by actual virgin’s virgin olive oil with one hand and pushed Hannibal’s silk pyjama pants down with the other. “Oh, I intend to.”


	8. Dich leitet Lieb und Tugend nicht, Weil Tod und Rache dich entzunden

Will swore as he stumbled on his landing, hampered by both the uneven surface and the burden slung over his shoulder. Who knew that the bloody waiter would have weighed so much. He had looked skinny and androgynous enough in the cafe but clearly that had been deceptive because he weighed a bloody tonne. Still, he supposed that it didn’t matter too much considering that he wasn’t going to be alive after the next few hours. No, he was going to be the final piece in Will’s tableaux. A work of art that - he hoped - was worthy of the Ripper himself.

They hadn’t stayed long in Venice beyond the death of Will’s patient, Chiara Kopatchinskaya. Will was growing tired of having to interact with people and, thankfully, Hannibal recognised that. Continuing on with their European grand tour as Will had dubbed it, they had decamped to Vienna where they had undergone a role reversal.

This time, Hannibal had resumed the psychiatric profession while Will occupied his time as a dog walker/sitter. It was the perfect job for him; minimal human interaction and all of the dogs he could want, even if it was only temporary. Hannibal regularly reminded him that he wasn’t allowed to bring them home while Will rolled his eyes and told himself that, one day, when they were settled, he’d have a pack again.

As there had been in Venice, there was a continuous stream of tourists through the city of Vienna and they had continued to stock their fridge and freezer with the rude that caught their attention. This particular waiter may not have been deemed rude by Hannibal’s standards, but he certainly was by Will’s; it took a special type of person to flirt with someone in front of their spouse and to keep on doing it, even once they had been warned.

It had become a habit for Will and Hannibal to take an afternoon stroll on a Wednesday, the day that Hannibal closed the office early, and end up somewhere for coffee and cake. Most of the time, they ended up at the Hotel Sacher after Will had developed something of a taste for their world-famous chocolate cake. He wasn’t normally a fan of desserts - something which Hannibal knew - but there was something about the bitter-sweet taste of the cake that appealed to Will. The cafe was something of a tourist trap which didn’t exactly endear it to Will but the cake had him returning time and time again. After Will had moaned almost orgasmically around his first mouthful, Hannibal had offered to make it at home, only to find his attempts foiled by the lengths gone to to keep the recipe secret. As such, returning to the hotel on a regular basis.

It had been at the hotel that they had met their waiter - “call me Christophe, please” - and Will’s final piece.

He was attractive, Will had grudgingly admitted that much. The kind who clearly knew he was attractive and was no stranger to using his looks to get what happened, whether that be material items or people. He had taken one look at Hannibal in his three-piece suit and decided that he wanted him, Will be damned.

The fact that Will and Hannibal wore matching rings, that they were visibly affectionate was of no concern to him. Instead, he batted his eyelashes, simpered and made flirtatious comments as though Will didn’t exist. And Hannibal? Well, Hannibal just smiled while Will seethed silently. This continued for three weeks, by which point, Will’s restraint was fast disappearing. Deciding to say something, he had a quiet word with the brat while Hannibal was in the bathroom. He had had the gall to respond that if Hannibal had a problem with it then he would put a stop to it and then had the balls to run his fingers all over Hannibal’s shoulders and biceps when he returned, under the pretence of helping him with his coat. Will had concentrated on regulating his breathing even as he envisioned removing those wandering fingers one by one as slowly as possible so as to cause maximum pain.

What Will didn’t understand was Hannibal’s response to all of this, how he was being so blase and, well, oblivious. When they had been in Venice and their roles had been reversed, with one of Will’s patients flirting incessantly, Hannibal had gone on a murderous rampage, killing numerous women who resembled Chiara Kopatchinskaya before eventually killing her onstage at La Fenice. So far, Will had been positively restrained but his patience had come to an end. Christophe’s lustful gaze and coveting of Will’s husband would come to an end, Will would ensure it.

As he had in Baltimore, Hannibal worked late one evening a week. In truth, while they had more than enough money to live very comfortably without working, neither man felt happy doing that. Maybe one day but they had too much of a work ethic to do nothing. More than that, Hannibal gained far too much pleasure from manipulating money, from playing with their minds as though they were toys and then sitting back and watching human nature take over and the events unfold. It was why he had returned to psychiatry. Thus, it wasn’t difficult for Will to make up a fictitious new client one night that Hannibal worked late.

Instead of walking a new dog however, Will had made to way to the Hotel Sacher and, from the safety of the bar, watched as Christophe flirted outrageously with a series of patrons, all of them distinguished gentlemen of a certain age, dressed well and clearly wealthy. To all appearances, Christophe was apparently in the market for a sugar daddy and wasn’t all that fussy who he ended up with. Will’s lip curled. This child though that he could steal Hannibal’s attention and keep it?

He watched as the boy - for he was little more than that - took one customer into a staff only room with a sly glance and flirtatious smirk while a second was only afforded the back of an alley next to the hotel, Christophe dropping to his knees with what he clearly thought was a seductive smirk that was anything but, although the rather portly man he was serving didn’t object too much if his grunts were anything to go by.

As darkness wreathed the city, Will followed Christophe as he left work, moving up behind him and knocking him unconscious with one blow as they passed a blind-spot. They gained more than a few curious glances and several concerned questions as they made the short walk through the city towards Stephensplatz but, with one of Christophe’s arms slung over his shoulder, Will was able to assay their questions in fumbling German that his friend had simply drunk too much wine and had passed out. A bit of quick work with a set of lockpicks and they were in the catacombs below St Stephen’s Cathedral with a stumble.

Using the torch he had in his pocket, Will picked his way through the first level of the catacombs, those directly under the cathedral. He had overheard some tourists talking about them and known immediately that they were perfect for what he had in mind. One tour and a lot of research later, Will had a setting in place, he just needed the other stars of the show. Christophe began to rouse as Will moved into the newer part of the catacombs, under the square of Stephensplatz rather than beneath the church itself. There were fewer lights here and, whilst it was technically newer, it looked older, helped by the ossuary with its piles of bones. Finally, he reached the part of the catacombs that he had singled out, the part where tour guides allowed only the briefest peek; the lower levels. By the this point, Christophe had truly started struggling and Will had had no compunction about dropping him down the ladder, where he landed in a crumpled heap and with a groan.

Of course, the groan turned into a scream when he saw what was waiting at the end of that particular passageway; Will’s artistic efforts so far. Looking between the tableaux and Will with wide-eyes, Christophe tried to scramble away but, while there were plenty of recesses he could hide in, he didn’t seem to have the wits to hide.

“Why have you brought me here? What are you going to do to me? What kind of sick fuck are you?”

“The kind of sick fuck who doesn’t like it when other people continually make a play for his husband. As for why you’re here … I’m going to teach you a lesson and gift my husband some art in the process.”

Will pulled out a scalpel that he had borrowed from Hannibal’s collection and smiled, “shall we get started?”

The way that Christophe’s screams echoed around the subterranean caverns really was quite musical. So fitting given that it had been yet another opera that had provided the inspiration. 

~*~

Just as in Rome, Hannibal had insisted upon having a harpsichord at home and, fondly remembering evenings spent listening to Hannibal play, Will hadn’t raised any objections. Given how late in the year it was, the weather had turned and it was definitely feeling more wintery. It was too early for snow, although whether it would make an appearance was a much-discussed conversation point around the city. So, given the chill in the air, why would Will object to evenings in with his husband accompanied by the warmth of the fire and Hannibal's cooking. 

This was one aspect of being in a relationship that he had relished during his marriage to Molly. It was the one thing that he had never thought he would have, thinking himself to be too broken to manage a relationship. He had certainly never dreamed that he would ever have it with Hannibal. It was the quiet companionship. The ability to spend time together pursuing totally different pursuits, not necessarily speaking but content nonetheless. It was right up there with spending a night in someone's embrace and the feeling of safety that ensued.

The second was not one he had experienced with Molly. He may not have had encephalitis anymore and he may not have still been working for the FBI but that didn't mean the monsters went away altogether. The cold sweats had gone but the nightmares hadn't and that didn't change through their marriage. Strange then how, with one of - if not the - worst monsters he had ever encountered sleeping in his bed and his arms, Will had never slept better or felt safer.

Then again, Hannibal Lecter was very much a one of a kind monster.

One who had spent so long prevaricating over the harpsichord that he wanted - French or Italian, ornately painted and ornamented or plain - that Will had threatened to divorce him. Will hadn't even realised that there were so many different types of harpsichords. And then, of course, because Hannibal was so fussy, when they had found the harpsichord that looked right, he wasn't happy with the sound and wanted it restrung. Which had necessitated finding a competent piano tuner who could restring an instrument to Hannibal's high standards. Will had managed to restrain his frustrations to a modicum of eye-rolling and some fairly acerbic comments about making sure that whoever Hannibal picked wasn't sociopathic serial-killer. Hannibal hadn't responded, but the corners of his mouth had curved up as he had continued serving dinner; delicately seared fillets of the tour guide who just wouldn't accept no for an answer accompanied with a medley of vegetables and drizzled with some sauce that Will could never remember the name of but which made him moan almost pornographically every single time.

When the piano tuner eventually turned up, Will wasn't sure if he was better or worse than Tobias Budge. Hannibal had reassured him that the man - Florian, what kind of a name was that? - didn't have any dubious hobbies but, even so. The man's ego and arrogance were certainly equivalent to Budge's. He also seemed to be peacocking for Hannibal in a very similar manner, trying to gain his attention. Will knew that Hannibal was an attractive prospect, especially to those who didn't know about his other activities. He was good-looking, intelligent, gentlemanly and wealthy. He was also Will's and the way that people ignored that wasn't sitting well. What was it with the men in this city? Honestly, it was almost enough to give a man a complex. It would definitely have done so to the man Will had been when they first met.

While Will had been silently seething, Florian - and Will had to work hard not to scoff aloud at that - had been regaling Hannibal with his life story while he worked on the harpsichord. Apparently, he had had ambitions to be a concert pianist, only for them to be scuppered by the professors at the Mozarteum in Salzburg, who had informed him that he didn't have the talent to be a soloist and advised that he turn his ambitions elsewhere. Undeterred, he had focused on accompaniment and composition at the Konservatorium Wien. Unfortunately for him, neither the conservatoire nor the world felt the same way about both his abilities as composer/accompanist as he did and his works and auditions post-schooling were unsuccessful which, in turn, fostered a hatred for working musicians in the city. The very same musicians that he had to interact with as he supported himself tuning their instruments.

Finally, after far too long in Will's opinion, he was finished and proceeded to play some god awful cacophony that made Will's ears hurt. It sounded like a toddler banging on the keys. If he tried really hard, Will could detect some sort of complicated rhythmic patterns but there was no discernable melody that he could hear and there was no doubt that, if he had to listen for more ten minutes, he would have a headache. And then Florian had asked for their thoughts and Will's jaw had hit the floor. This was one of the man's compositions? Well, there was no wonder that nobody was interested; they were horrific. Will had been too shocked to speak but Hannibal had managed some words in that way he had where it sounded complimentary but wasn't.

Florian had then proceeded to ask Hannibal to play something to ensure that he was happy with the work that had been done. He hadn't had to ask twice, Hannibal immediately taking a seat on the piano bench and, setting his fingers on the keys, proceeded to play one if his compositions. Even on the unfamiliar instrument, it was stunning and Will was full of pride. Pride that turned to rage as Florian then derided the work as being trite, dull and uninspiring, although he did compliment Hannibal's playing.

It was the first comments that had sealed his fate.

The piece that Hannibal had played was one that Will adored. It was the piece that Hannibal had first played him in Rome before they dealt with Freddie, the piece that had been inspired by Will, the composition Hannibal had written about and for him. It had evolved over the months, just as Will himself had evolved in the time that he had known Hannibal but it was still the same piece, many elements unchanged merely enhanced, brought to the fore. By criticising it, especially after performing his own horror of a composition, Florian had ensured that he wouldn't be applying the next time that the Vienna Opera advertised for a repetiteur.

Judging by the look on Hannibal's face, it was just a question as to whether Will got there first. 

~*~

Unlike their time in Venice, Hannibal’s office in Vienna was not situated in their home. He had instead rented space in a building that greatly resembled his old office in Baltimore, even down to the mezzanine flooring and ladder. The first time Will had seen it, he had struggled not to burst out laughing. His second instinct had been to start plotting. He had several rather fond memories of Hannibal's office and there had been more than a few things that he would have liked to do there but it had never really been the right time. Now? Well, there couldn't be a better time. And they were going to start with the ladder.

The ladder had played a starring role in many of Will's fantasies, even going back so far as the early days of his and Hannibal's relationship. Back when they were just having conversations, when Will's brain was aggressively trying to destroy itself with Hannibal’s help and he wouldn't admit to himself that he was already so much more than interested in his therapist. There had been one appointment when he had been so convinced that something was going to happen; they had been talking about Will’s hallucinations Hannibal had had him backed up against the ladder and Will had been so ready for it but then just nothing. He had simply said that he knew a neurologist.

That was not the way that Will intended this evening to go.

He had written himself into Hannibal’s appointment book at his old appointment time under a false name, thus ensuring that he was the last ‘patient’ and had plenty of time for his fun. His deception was entirely worth it upon seeing the way that Hannibal’s eyes widened as they alighted upon him halfway through his welcome.

“Mr Daniel … Halstead.”

“Hello, Dr Lecter.” As Will entered the office, he deliberately ensured that he brushed past Hannibal knowing precisely the effect that it would have. While Hannibal closed the door and turned to face him, Will meandered around the room, trailing his fingers over the desk and the bookshelves, the various pieces of art that Hannibal had scattered around the room. 

“What brings you to my office, Mr Halstead?”

Will had made it to the ladder and he trailed his fingers across it suggestively, just catching the slightly louder inhale from Hannibal that his actions elicited. Turning to face the door, he leaned against it and raised his eyes to meet Hannibal’s.

“I thought it was time to resume my therapy, Dr Lecter.”

If Hannibal had moved any quicker, he would have been a blur. With a bestial noise, he was across the room and Will's vest was an early casualty. As his shirt and trousers joined it in quick succession, Will hoped that enough buttons had been spared that he wouldn't be doing the walk of shame on their return home. In truth, Will was showing the same disrespect for Hannibal's clothing. If there were any buttons left on Hannibal's shirt, Will would be impressed. He tangled his fingers in Hannibal’s chest hair and tugged gently, pinching a nipple as Hannibal bit at the tendon in Will’s jaw. Shoving pants and underwear down Hannibal’s thighs, Will wrapped his hand around Hannibal’s cock, pumping it a couple of times before using his thumb to spread pre-come around the head.

“I fantasised about this for so long. Want you in me, now.”

Hannibal’s eyes were glazed and his voice raspy with lust as he pulled to look at Will. When the words registered, he blinked before responding. “Lubricant?”

Will cocked his hip and propped one foot on a rung of the ladder, spreading himself as he tugged on Hannibal’s cock, guiding it to his entrance. “Prepared myself already.”

Will didn’t even get to finish the sentence before Hannibal’s cock slammed into him, just as he had known it would, filling him perfectly as always. He had known precisely what the image of Will fingering himself open, preparing himself for Hannibal’s cock would do to his husband. Every thrust sent Will's back raking over the rungs of ladder but he didn't utter a word of complaint. He just dug his fingers into the meat of Hannibal's arse and encouraged him to thrust deeper and harder, something that Hannibal indulged him in without pause. To neither man’s surprise, it wasn’t long before Hannibal was coming burying his teeth in Will’s shoulder as he spilled himself inside Will, hot and wet. The sensation of it, combined with the friction of Hannibal’s belly rubbing over his hard cock, caused Will to spill himself between them with a cry.

When they finally got around to cleaning themselves up, Will had been right in his guess that not all of their vestments had made it through unscathed. Hannibal’s shirt had just one button valiantly clinging on while Will’s vest was practically rend in two along the back seam. Still, enough clothing was salvageable that people wouldn’t be alerted to their activities as they made their way home. Despite being fuzzy with the warmth of orgasm, Hannibal was still sharp enough that he didn’t miss Will’s slight grimace of pain as he helped him dress.

“Will? Are you okay?”

Will smiled ruefully, feeling the tenderness of his back where the knobs of his spine had hit the rungs of the ladder. It would bruise, no doubt about that. “I may have to submit myself to your ministrations, Dr Lecter.”

Will knew that Hannibal would take his teasing seriously and fuss over him until he was reassured that their little bit of fun hadn’t truly hurt Will. That was fine but Will would be back; he had plans for the chaise longue next. 

~*~

From the outside, the Vienna State Opera House shared the same imposing facade as La Fenice or the Gran Teatro in Havana, as opposed to the unobtrusive frontage of the Teatro della Roma. Then again, the occasional flurries of snow probably added a lot to the general ambience. Will had complained about the suit that Hannibal had got out for him but, by now, it was simply expected. A strange sort of tradition if you like. In a way, he had got used to wearing the nice clothes that he had started to buy for himself after his release from prison and that Hannibal continued to to buy for him. Besides, he also liked the way that Hannibal looked at him when he was all dressed up.

Inside, the venue was just as ornate and luxurious as any other venue they had visited and packed full to the brim. Die Zauberflöte had premiered in the city at the Freihaus-Theater auf der Wieden in 1791 and was just as much a success now as it had been then, with both tourists and native Viennese. Having heard several arias and duets from it already, having prevailed upon Hannibal to add them to his evening repertoire, Will was actually looking forward to it. And they didn’t even have a murder planned.

Regrettably, one thing didn’t live up to his expectations. Or the expectations of many other patrons, if the ripple of whispers that echoed through the auditorium was anything to go by. At the interval, Will could barely wait until they had drinks in their hands before he was questioning Hannibal.

“Who was that woman singing the Queen? She sounded like she was choking on a hairball for some of those notes. And it didn't sound as though she was singing at the same speed as the orchestra. What happened to Lise?”

Lise had been a rocky moment during their move to Austria. A recent graduate of the Konservatoire, she had been a guest at one of Hannibal's dinner parties not two weeks before and, the moment that he had seen her, it had been a toss up between Will crushing his cut-glass tumbler with his bare hands or lobbing it at Hannibal's head, irrespective of the fact that they had company. While Lise Dahl was a lovely young woman and an incredibly accomplished musician, she bore an uncanny resemblance to one Abigail Hobbs.

The subject of Abigail had never really been dealt with between the two of them. Will had thought of her more since that first time in Rome, particularly in Florence, where they had spent so much time together in his mind palace. But, he and Hannibal had never discussed or dealt with their feelings when it came to Hannibal’s actions in his kitchen - and before - regarding Abigail and they couldn’t be avoided forever. Lise, with her looks and demeanour so reminiscent of Abigail, had simply brought the inevitable forward. Their guests had not suspected that anything was amiss but, once they had departed, the topic of Abigail - the possibility of a daughter for both of them that had never been realised - had been resolved amid actual blood, sweat and tears.

After dinner - a grocer who had supplied Hannibal with inferior products one too many times, Lise had graciously agreed to perform for them and several of the arias she had sung had belonged to the infamous role of the Queen of the Night. Unlike this woman, her voice had been as clear and pure as a bell, her entire being as well as her voice radiating menace and venom. There was simply no doubting that she put her entire self, heart and soul, into her performance. The same could not be said for the woman currently treading the boards.

“Lise is, much to my chagrin, merely an understudy. Iris Ashton is an acclaimed soprano who has performed all over the world.”

“How?”

“Will, let us not be uncharitable. Yes, there were some … fluctuations in intonation and several occasions where the soloist and orchestra weren't entirely synchronised but that is the nature of public performance.”

“Bullshit. Who are you and what have you done with my husband? Hannibal, you winced. Visibly. In public. I didn't even know that you could do that.”

Hannibal's lips twitched and Will raised an eyebrow in a silent ‘you know I'm right’.

“Incorrigible boy. Very well, if it were my choice, then it would be Lise on stage but that is simply not the case. Now, issues with the Queen aside, are you enjoying yourself?”

“I like it. The melodies are pretty and it's funnier than I thought an opera could be. None of the others have been comedic. The rest has been enlightening. If I didn't know your opinions on the rude, I would have thought that the Ripper had been inspired in part by this. There's a lot of threes in it.”

“Ah yes, but no. That was always sounders, as you well know. Pigs of the human variety. Mozart's fascination with the rule of three comes from his connection to the Masons. Die Zauberflöte is an opera full of allegory and symbolism, inspired by symbols and characteristics of Egyptian lore as well as various original Masonic texts. It is the most Masonic of his works. A true masterpiece.”

Anything else that Hannibal was going to say was interrupted by the sound of a bell being rung. “And there is the second act. We should retake our seats, the Austrians are most particular about starting performances promptly.”

“Does she sing again?” Will's voice was plaintive. “Please tell me she doesn't sing again.”

“She does. Unfortunately, the most famous aria sung by the Queen of the Night still lies before us.”

“And does it go higher than what we’ve already heard?”

“ _Der Hölle Rache kocht in meinem Herzen_ is one of the most notorious arias for coloratura soprano.”

“And for those of us who know nothing about music?”

“You don’t know nothing. But, to answer your question, it means that you’re going to need another drink. How quickly can you drink it?”

“You’d be surprised.”

By the time that the third scene was over, Will was wishing that he had managed to knock back another three tumblers of whiskey. It had been even worse than Hannibal had implied. There had been the distinct rustle of people walking out and Will had looked longingly after them, knowing that Hannibal would never leave in the middle of a performance as it was rude, even if he was dying inside. The only hint that Hannibal was as unhappy with the soloist as everyone else was the way that his body was radiating tension, completely rigid in the seat next to Will.

At one point, in a most un-Hannibal like manner, he leaned over to whisper in Will's ear. “The gods Osiris and Isis, who Sarastro and his priests worship, were believed to be dual-beings and couldn’t manifest without the other.”

There was no question as to what Hannibal was inferring. About who he was drawing parallels with. At a loss for words, Will leant his head against Hannibal's shoulder and took his hand, craning his head enough to press a kiss to the underside of Hannibal's jaw without disturbing the patrons around them when Hannibal laced their fingers.

Will missed the rest of the opera, lost in his mind. Hannibal's words and the opera itself had proved rather inspirational and Will had the early ideas for a tableaux of his own that, he hoped, would pay homage to and bring to mind Hannibal's previous work. As the Queen of the Night raged on stage, Will smiled to himself. And the muses had practically fallen into his lap; some kind of sign perhaps?

It was certainly not one that Will was going to ignore. 

~*~

It had been easy enough for Will to capture his first two muses. He had taken two pre-loaded syringes of fentanyl from Hannibal’s medical bag, hoping that their disappearance wouldn’t be missed. To his disappointment, his prey hadn’t even been hard to catch. Florian had been caught stumbling home drunk while a few compliments at the stage door had been all that was needed to get Iris to go for a drink with him. With alcohol in their systems, it wasn’t hard to convince either of them to let him help them home and, once he had them in a deserted alley near Stephensplatz, the fentanyl worked ridiculously quickly.

The chill and threat of snow in the air - and thus in the catacombs - was to Will’s benefit because it meant that he was able to hide the two bodies in the deserted part of the crypt until he could get enough time away from Hannibal to start creating his tableaux.

He was relishing the prospect. It had been far too long since he had had the opportunity to spend time on a kill, to actually kill someone with his own hands. There had been Freddie Lounds but, truly, the last person that he had actively killed, where he had been close enough to feel the blood spatter on his face, had been Chilton. This was also the first time that he had harvested organs. More than a few of his dog walks had ended with him sat in one of Vienna’s many parks reading medical texts that he had surreptitiously borrowed from Hannibal’s office library, figuring out how to achieve his goal. He still wasn’t convinced as to how successful he would be, but he would give it his best attempt.

He dealt with Florian first. The temptation to just rip them apart as he had with Randall was almost overwhelming but he couldn’t get carried away, he had an aesthetic to achieve. Instead, he opted for snapping their necks. Hannibal made it look so but it wasn’t quite as simple as he made it appear. It took Will several attempts before he was successful but it happened eventually and Will was inordinately grateful that the fentanyl had made him more docile. From there, he used the bone saw - once again, for the first time since Dresden - and relished the feeling of blood and brain matter across his face. He was going to have to clean up carefully before he saw Hannibal again lest his husband’s superior olfactory sense gave Will’s secret away before he was ready.

Iris had been far more satisfying. For a start, there had been her screams as she saw both her location and the partly mutilated corpse of Florian laid out next to her. They had been far more pleasurable than her singing a few nights previously. As enjoyable as it had been removing Florian’s brain, Will knew that there was going to be nothing quite like the feeling of a scalpel sliding through flesh and muscle, or feeling bones crack under his bare hands. Of the strength that was needed to take a body apart. He could have used a rib spreader once the initial incisions had been made, but where was the fun in that? In order to fully realise his design, Will only needed to remove one organ but, once he had opened up the chest cavity, he couldn’t quite resist. Besides, Hannibal would be able to create some culinary masterpiece with whatever he provided. Feeling his hands bathed in blood once more was exhilarating and Will could feel his blood thrumming in his veins, the feelings of power and arousal rushing through him. Emotions that would only be slaked by the feeling of Hannibal underneath him. That would have to wait just a little longer though.

The delicate hand that Will had cultivated through tying lures for his fishing came in handy when he had to sew up the soprano’s chest cavity. His stitches were neat but still very visible and ran the risk of ruining the aesthetic somewhat. He had a solution though. He had paid a visit to Komolka, a reputable fabric shop in Vienna, where he had managed to find the same fabric that had been used in the costume for the Queen of the Night. Once he had the two figures positioned as he wanted, making up two-thirds of his tableaux, Will swathed Iris in the fabric which had the dual advantage of both hiding the stitching and making it appear just as Will wanted it to.

All that it needed now was his third muse and Will had the perfect person in mind. 

~*~

Will wasn’t entirely sure why he had made the realisation, why he had remembered the date that Hannibal had killed Tobias Budge in his office was fast approaching but he had. Maybe it had been the luthier who would never again comment on his clients compositions. But, once the realisation had been made, it was all Will could think about. That sick feeling in the pit of his stomach when he had arrived at Hannibal’s office and seen the body bags, the almost overwhelming sense of relief when he had realised that Hannibal was alive. The matching expression on Hannibal’s face, a surprisingly human expression. It had give him a goal to work for, a time frame to work to.

And, so it was that, several years to the day that Hannibal had killed Tobias and Will had realised that he felt far more for Hannibal than he had for anyone else, did Will take Hannibal by the hand and descend into the bowls of Vienna to show him exactly what Will had become. He hadn’t said anything to Hannibal beyond that he had a gift for him and asked for Hannibal to trust him.

The temperature down in the catacombs was raw and, if he had to make an estimate, he would say that it was well-below freezing. It had served him well though because it meant that his first corpse was only just starting to show signs of decomposition. Hannibal was quite clearly intrigued but remained silent and allowed Will to lead them through the catacombs until they reached Will’s own homage to the Chesapeake Ripper.

Will wasn’t under any illusions. He knew that what he had created wasn’t up to Hannibal’s standards but then he had never expected it to be. He was merely an amateur whilst Hannibal was a master. All Will had wanted was to pay homage, to show Hannibal how invested Will was in all of this. He didn’t think that Hannibal had doubts after their grand tour together, their wedding, but it never hurt to make sure. Will was more than happy with what he had created. It was the first time that he had done this by himself - without Hannibal - since Dolarhyde and it was very different to Randall. He had hoped that Hannibal would like it, would approve of Will’s action, but so far Hannibal hadn’t said anything. It was starting to make Will nervous.

“Hannibal?” Will almost didn’t recognise his voice, quavering as he sought approval, acknowledgement, something. Anything.

What he wasn’t expecting was the sheer amount of emotion on Hannibal’s face. Hannibal was the expert in micro-expressions and Will had gotten much better at deciphering them but it wasn’t an exact science. If Will thought about it, he was fairly certain that he’d only seen this range on a handful of occasions. He was positive that he’d only seen him cry - properly cry - twice before, during their wedding ceremony and on their first night together after said ceremony.

“Will” his name was barely breathed out but the sheer reverence in that single world was unmistakable and Will relaxed.

“Mylimasis, it’s beautiful.” Hannibal stepped closer, examining the creation that Will had slaved, sweated and sworn over. He studied it from several angles, as he tried to recognise the inspiration. “Tintoretto?”

Will hummed and allowed himself to be tugged closer, feeling Hannibal’s arms wrap around his waist. “Bacchus, Venus and Ariadne. It was hanging in one of the Palazzo’s you dragged me to in Venice and I liked it. It stuck in my head and then when we saw the opera; the Queen of the Night and the significance of the number three. It just seemed to fit. I know it’s not up to your standards, anything that you created…”

“Don’t disparage yourself. It’s beautiful, Will.”

Will didn't quite believe his husband but he tried to see his creation through Hannibal’s eyes, rather than his own overly critical ones, and supposed that what he had created was rather beautiful. In a macabre way, of course.

As Hannibal had said, the three figures were positioned as in Tintoretto's painting which had been inspired by Ovid's Metamorphosen. The same Metamorphosen which had inspired Dante, whose words Hannibal had quoted to him that night in Rome. The soprano was seated, her form swathed in the fabric that had worn the only time that she appeared on stage as the Queen of the Night during the Vienna production run. The overly-critical piano tuner had been suspended from the ceiling of the crypt with strings from his own piano, while Christophe the waiter was part-suspended, part sprawled over the floor.

Will had taken further inspiration from _Die Zauberflöte_ and Mozart's masonic obsession with the number three and it's connection to mind, body and soul. In the opera, there were three chords that ran through the work signifying the three principles of body, mind and soul. Each member of his art had had a connective part removed. Christophe his covetous eyes, the piano tuner his brain with all of his unwanted opinions and the singer, her heart for her performance that had lacked any soul. Of course, he took her lungs as well; it wasn’t as though she was going to be serenading anyone in death, not with her lack of musical ability.

Those parts now rested in a cooler off to the side, waiting for whatever gastronomic feast Hannibal decided to create. Will had wanted to go further, to use flowers as the Ripper had, but the ones he wanted weren't easily available in wintery Vienna and so he had had to improvise. In the cavities where eyes, heart and brain had once sat, origami flowers made of manuscript now occupied the space, stained in blood and various other bodily fluids.

Will bit his lip as Hannibal stepped forward to examine his creation more closely. “The music isn't Mozart, but it seemed right.”

Hannibal stooped to inspect a piece of manuscript before giving a dark little chuckle that did things to Will. “ _La Forza del Destino._ Indeed. And Bach, my favourite.”

As Hannibal turned, his eyes took on that maroon tint that Will so loved in the dim light and his expression was soft, adoring almost, as he reached out a hand for Will, drawing him close when Will accepted it. “My mongoose, what you’ve become. I wish I could have seen you as you created it; you always look so radiant bathed in blood.”

Will was grateful for the shadows in the crypt because they hid the blush that covered his cheeks. He still wasn’t used to the way that Hannibal complimented him, how easy and matter of fact it was. That didn’t meant that he wanted Hannibal to stop though.

_“Hannibal.”_

“What, mylimasis? Can I not show my appreciation for you? It is perfectly for normal for a man to want to compliment his husband.”

“Is that what you want to do? Compliment me?”

“I want to do many things to you.” Hannibal tugged Will even closer, so that he could feel Hannibal’s erection pressed against his hip. “My darling boy, ăs myliu tave.”

Will tipped his lips, mutely asking for a kiss that Hannibal willingly bestowed. It was searing; there was no other word to describe it. Hannibal’s tongue demanded entry to Will’s mouth, pressing insistently past the seam of his lips as he framed Will’s face in his hands, not allowing to him to pull back even a fraction of an inch. Not that Will had any intention of going anywhere. Will yielded initially, but he had no intention of letting Hannibal dominate. Fisting his hands in the lapels of Hannibal's coat, he pulled back fractionally before he dived back in, nipping and biting at Hannibal’s lips as he ground against him. Will grinned as Hannibal threw his head back with a moan that echoed around the chamber as Will ran teasing fingers over the straining front of his trousers.

“I need you now.”

“Then have me.”

Knowing what had happened after Salome and their method of dealing with Chilton, Will had come prepared. He now fished it from his pocket as stripped them of their coats, creating a makeshift bed on the damp floor. In deference to their surroundings and the cold, they didn’t strip completely, ripping open shirts and shoving trousers and underwear down to their knees.Will spread his legs eagerly as Hannibal settled over him, his head thudding back and bouncing painfully off the stone floor as the first of Hannibal’s slick fingers slid inside of him. Will couldn’t help but gasp as a second finger slid inside him, twisting and stretching as Hannibal left teasing bites and sucking kisses over Will’s thighs and belly. A moan ripped itself from his throat as a third finger joined the others quickly, grazing over Will’s prostate, his hips bucking in search of more pleasure. To Will’s relief, Hannibal had as little interest in prolonging things as he did. He sat back on his heels, ripping open the condom packet and rolling it on before slicking himself up.

Will could hear his breath hitch as Hannibal pressed into him steadily until he was completely sheathed inside Will. As much as he loved fucking Hannibal, there was nothing quite like feeling Hannibal within him, filling him completely and Will relished that feeling as Hannibal paused, leaning down to capture his lips in a filthy kiss before he started to move. Will wrapped his leg around Hannibal's hip as best as he could, hampered by his trousers, in an attempt to encourage him to move more as Hannibal changed the angle of his thrusts continuously until Will swore loudly, his hands clutching at Hannibal's shoulders as Hannibal's cock raked over his prostate. Will rolled his hips as best as he could as his hands clenched in the fabric of Hannibal’s shirt, crumpling it almost beyond saving, encouraging him to speed up his thrusts, something that Hannibal seemed more than happy to indulge him in.

“Stroke yourself,” the words were breathless as Hannibal continued thrusting and Will obeyed, sliding a hand between them to take hold of his cock.

Their moans mixed and echoed around the chambers, a companion work to the way that the screams had done so on previous evenings as Will had created his art. Both of them different but equally beautiful to Will’s ears. Throwing his head back, eyes sliding over his tableaux before they were drawn back to Hannibal, Will wrapped his free arm and legs tighter around Hannibal as he embraced everything that he had become and, with a couple of final strokes to his cock, tipped over the edge into orgasm.


	9. Legszebbik koronad veres

Without doubt, Budapest was the closest that Will had come to familiarity during their tour of Europe. For the first time, they weren’t living in a city but just past the outskirts in a place that strongly reminded him of Wolf Trap. When he had questioned Hannibal as to whether he would be happy living somewhere that required a drive to get to anything resembling culture, Hannibal had simply replied that Will had seen Castle Lecter and, thus, he should know that Hannibal was perfectly used to living in the middle of nowhere.

It was nice. Quiet and peaceful, something that was helped by the weather. Will knew that it couldn’t last forever, but he would enjoy it while he could. The days were spent in quiet pursuits, sometimes together and sometimes separately. There were plenty of opportunities for fishing (for Will), hunting – of the animal variety (for Hannibal), hunting of the human variety (for both of them) and quiet evenings in comfortable silence, listening to music, sketching and reading or making love. He had even managed to achieve his goal of getting Hannibal into a pair of waders and the quiet of the stream for the first time. It had been both touching that Hannibal was willing to try it for Will’s sake and amusing watching Hannibal try his hand at Will’s favourite pastime.

It had been equally amusing to watch Hannibal fail at something. There was no doubt that Hannibal had managed to grasp the concepts of everything that Will was telling him; the man was more than intelligent enough. However, intelligence and the ability to grasp a concept didn’t make you a good fisherman. Hannibal had all of the attributes needed but, regardless, when they returned home at the end of the afternoon, it was Will who had caught three fish while Hannibal was empty-handed. The ensuing pout was so ridiculous that Will had been unable to hold back his snort of laughter which, in turn, had made Hannibal’s pout even more pronounced. That had led to Will twining himself around Hannibal, placating him with endearments and soft kisses, stroking his bruised ego until the pout had dissipated.

If he was being honest, this was the life that Will could envision he and Hannibal for the future. He could see the two of them growing old somewhere like this quite easily. He knew that there would have to be some compromise; Hannibal was enough of a social animal that Will knew he would chafe at living somewhere like this permanently. Unlike Will, who was more than happy with just Hannibal for company, Hannibal needed more than that. He needed to be able to go to the opera, to visit his swanky deli’s and meet people who he could invite to his dinner parties. While Will may have avoided them like the plague back in the States, he grown to tolerate them and the dinner parties that they had thrown in Venice had shown Will that he found a twisted amusement from them.

That being said, compromise went both ways. If Will was willing to be sociable for Hannibal, then Hannibal was going to learn how to live with a dog for Will. He understood that, given they had been moving every few months since their fall, it had been impractical for them to have a pet but, once they were settled, Will refused to take no for an answer. He would have at least one dog or Hannibal would live the rest of his life without sex and Will was confident enough that Hannibal would refuse to accept that. He couldn’t help but smile at the thought; of Hannibal being all melodrama at the prospect of no sex unless they got a dog.

“What has you smiling like that?”

“Jesus!” Will jumped in the air, making a huge splash in the stream, having been startled by Hannibal creeping up with his catlike tread. “I should buy you a bloody bell and make you wear it on a collar. There goes dinner for this evening; I hope you have a back-up plan.”

“Naturally. But I have faith in your abilities and there are still several hours of daylight left. Do you mind?” Hannibal held up a sketchbook and gestured to the bank.

Will shook his head and turned his attention back to the water and his line. He had been hugely self-conscious when he had first realised that Hannibal was sketching him. He had been so aware of every little thing that he was doing, second-guessing it and wondering what he looked like, how Hannibal saw him. Now, he was used to it. Hannibal was probably onto the third sketchbook of drawings focused on Will. There were ones of him fishing, asleep, several of him in the costume that he had had to wear to the Doge’s Ball in Venice, one of him stood over Chilton’s body and far too many of him inserted into famous works of art.

Unsurprisingly, masters of the Italian Renaissance seemed to be favoured above all. Numerous renditions of Will as Patrocles, as Saint Sebastien, in Botticelli’s _Primavera_ and even as what was apparently a Bernini angel. It was perhaps a little over the top for Will but, then again, that was Hannibal’s modus operandi and he would just give this supercilious little smirk whenever Will complained. It made Will want to smack him but the bastard would probably like it too much. So, Will didn’t say anything, merely rolled his eyes a lot whenever Hannibal got his sketchbook out and a certain look in his eye.

The less said about the ones of him naked in the throes of passion the better. Hannibal had tried to deny their existence but Will knew better than that. There was at least one notebook full of sketches of Will thoroughly fucked or heavy-lidded with desire and the few times that Will had caught glimpses of them, he had blushed hotly, regardless of the fact that he had been a willing participant in all of the activities depicted on the page and enjoyed every single minute of them.

Will was fairly certain that there was another secret sketchbook, although he'd never managed to find proof of its existence. The only reason that he believed that there was came from an offhand comment from Hannibal, a barely breathed out ‘just as I visualised it’.

Of course, Will could have imagined it. He had been lying sprawled across the sheets, utterly boneless after several orgasms. Will had had more than a few lovers over the years - there were enough people willing to overlook the acerbic nature, unkempt sense of style and grooming and general unsociable nature for a good fuck - but none of them had been quite like Hannibal. None of them had known exactly how to play Will’s body, how to capture his mind as well as his body like Hannibal did.

Knowing Hannibal as he did, was precisely why Will suspected the existence of another sketchbook. For all that Hannibal had an air of respectability in public, he couldn’t be further from the truth. Will had discovered that Hannibal had a side that definitely could be described as kinky when it came to sex, one that was mirrored in Will. Given that Hannibal sketched everything, it really wasn’t outside the realms of possibility that he had sketched his fantasies, the things that he wanted to do to Will, that he wanted Will to do to him.

More than anything, Will was curious. 

~*~

Will had never been one for technology. He didn't see a need for it and he didn't feel like his life had been remotely lacking for anything without it. He had a phone because he needed one but it wasn't fancy - just capable of making calls and texts - and a radio, no laptop, no computer or tablet. He could use one when the need arose and would do so but those occasions were few and far between. That hadn't changed. Even when he had worked as a psychiatrist when they had lived in Venice, Will had taken all of his notes by hand. If he wanted news then he would buy a newspaper or, what was more likely, was that Hannibal would tell him. In direct contrast to him, Hannibal liked technology. He had a top of the range phone and his beloved and much used tablet was often within reach. Still, he accepted Will's dislike of them and never tried to foist their use on him.

Whilst he may not like technology, Will couldn't deny its usefulness, particularly in the days and weeks following Freddie's death. With her, more than any of the others they had murdered, they had feared repercussions. There was always the possibility that she had lied to them that night on the terrace of Castel Sant’Angelo. That she had told the FBI where she was going and that they would alert the Italian authorities. But, it did not appear that way. Hannibal had, of course, taken precautions and sent emails to Freddie from a hidden IP address implying another story which had given some misdirection. Luckily for them, either the FBI hadn’t noticed the lack of follow-up articles on TattleCrime or the Italian Polizia just didn’t give a shit.

It was a quiet day for Will. Hannibal had gone into Bucharest, having run out of the overpriced olive-oil and the, quite frankly, pretentious truffle oil that was apparently crucial to tonight's gastronomic delight. For all that Will had grumbled when he had been cruelly abandoned in bed early that morning, he could hardly complain when Hannibal had brought him breakfast in bed and would also be restocking their supply of the rather expensive coffee beans that Will had developed an addiction to. Will had lingered in bed for several hours after Hannibal had left, falling into a doze after devouring the smoked sausage that Hannibal had made from the tableau that Will had created in Vienna before he finally dragged himself out of bed.

He didn’t know what time Hannibal would be back but it probably wouldn’t be late; they tended not to venture apart for too long these days, hadn’t since their marriage. Wandering down to the kitchen, Will made himself a sandwich and ate it over the sink as he debated whether or not to go fishing and ruin Hannibal’s plans for dinner. Will’s attention was caught by Hannibal’s tablet that was lying on the counter. Thumbing it on, Will’s attention was immediately caught by one word.

Bedelia.

Will seethed. Bloody Bedelia du Maurier. Will disliked her intensely and he was fairly sure that the feeling was mutual. He hadn’t been fond of her before and, even now, a distance of several thousand miles had not changed his opinion. Even though he knew that it was far from rational, he couldn't help but resent her for the time that she had spent in Florence with Hannibal. Deep down, he also nursed resentment towards Hannibal for taking her with him. For taking Bedelia when it should have been Will and Abigail instead. He was aware that it wasn't logical, that Hannibal had said that he and Bedelia hadn't had a traditional relationship, that whilst they were ostensibly man and wife, they hadn't shared a bed or slept together. Will was taking that with a pinch of salt. He didn’t doubt that Bedelia would sleep with Hannibal out of spite towards Will and Hannibal wasn’t admitting to it because he valued his balls where they were and he knew that Will both knew the location of their knives and wasn’t afraid to use them. Yet, even so, Will remained inexplicably jealous. Despite him having the ring on his finger and the piece of paper making it official, Will couldn't help but feel a pang of insecurity at seeing the search for her on Hannibal's tablet. A search that, he was guessing, Hannibal wanted him to see given that it had been left visible and in a place where Will would see it and his curiosity would be piqued. Will shook his head; he loved his husband but Hannibal's predilection for mind games - even now - drove Will crazy. At least they had lessened in frequency. Thanks heavens for small mercies.

Sighing, because he knew that he wasn't going to be able to ignore it, Will picked up the tablet and started to browse the results. What he saw made him roll his eyes and wonder if it was too early for whisky. Scanning the second entry in the results list, he decided it wasn’t. Pouring himself a generous measure, Will took a seat at the counter, slowly starting to read. It would appear that Bedelia had deigned to give several interviews to a number of press outlets. More than that, given the number that appeared, she had apparently been touting for business. Freddie would probably have appeared if it had been several months early. What Will couldn’t understand was why. Considering how private she had been previously, it didn’t make sense. Especially when you considered that she had walked away from Florence out of handcuffs and with a book deal and a lecturing spot. Will didn’t even attempt to quell the bitchy voice in his head that suggested she needed the money to buy wine and continue pickling her liver.

A large slug of whisky enabled him to actually finish an interview, although he had to pause several times to roll his eyes. He couldn’t believe that Bedelia was trying to portray herself as being completely innocent and hadn’t she covered all of this in her book? Bedelia may be innocent in the fact that she never killed anyone - that she admitted to and he couldn’t imagine Hannibal keeping that tidbit quiet if she had - but she had known precisely what Hannibal had been up to and she had kept quiet and gone along with him anyway. No, Bedelia could claim coercion and portray herself as an innocent as much as she wanted but Will knew the truth.

It was about time for Bedelia to be reminded who she was dealing with. Who Hannibal had chosen in the end. That the Chesapeake Ripper was not the only dangerous one in their marriage.

Glancing past the tablet to where a newspaper lay on the table, Will saw an advertisement that reminded him of a past conversation and set the wheels of a plot in motion. Maybe it was time for Will to suggest a trip into the capital for the opera. They hadn’t been since Vienna and Hannibal was always so appreciative when Will endured something cultural for him. He couldn’t see Hannibal complaining and, if he wanted an equal partnership between the two of them, then he couldn’t expect Hannibal to take the lead every single time. He might not improve upon his efforts in Vienna but the point would have been made.

Pulling the tablet towards him one more time, Will pulled up the website for the Royal Hungarian Opera House. There was no real timescale that he had to work towards but there was no harm in Bedelia being reminded sooner rather than later. Besides, he had something of a hankering for Hannibal’s sweetbreads.

Fishing would have to wait. Will had plans to make and a bigger catch to reel in. 

~*~

“Will? Is there a reason that my tuxedo appears to have been dry-cleaned and is hanging up in our bedroom?”

“What’s the usual reason for you wearing your tuxedo?” Will leant against the doorjamb, nothing more than a towel around his waist and his curls dripping.

“Are you saying that you will voluntarily sit through an evening of culture for me?”

“I've done far worse than that. Although far worse tends to be more fun than culture. Tickets at the opera are paid for. We have dinner reservations in two hours. Is that enough time for you to primp yourself to your satisfaction?”

“I think a more apt question is whether that is enough time to make you look presentable.”

“Not fair. I've made an effort. My best suit has also been dry-cleaned and I've even shaved.”

“So you have.” Hannibal crossed the room and stroked Will's cheek, his fingers brushing over the sensitive skin where the Dragon's knife had pierced him eliciting a shudder from Will. “And what occasion has brought all of this on? Usually our trips to the opera are facilitated by me as opposed to your good self.”

Will nuzzled into Hannibal's hand, pressing a kiss to the palm before making eye contact. “I saw something - an advert - and I suppose you could say I was inspired.”

“Then we shall have to hope it doesn't disappoint. I shall perform my ablutions and dress.” Hannibal pressed a kiss to Will's cheek and moved towards the bathroom, only to turn at the door. “Out of curiosity, what is the opera we shall be viewing?”

Will's lips curled up in a small smirk unseen by Hannibal as he started to put together items in an overnight bag. “Bartók. Duke Bluebeard's Castle.” 

(~*~)

Will had done as much research as he possibly could before they arrived at the opera house. He had looked for blueprints and designs online and searched for information about CCTV cameras as well as volunteering to run errands for Hannibal in town and taking a guided tour so that he could get a close up view and a feel for the place. Even so, it didn't detract from the splendour as they arrived at the Hungarian Opera House. Will may have taken a guided tour but it was a bit different seeing the place essentially empty on the tour and then with a multitude of people in evening dress streaming up the grand staircase. It was the smallest of the opera houses that they had attended but, in many ways, it was similar with all of its red velvet, marble, ornate statues and gilt everywhere.

As they took their seats in the auditorium, Will couldn’t help but wonder when somebody would start to put together all of these murders that had been committed in opera houses. Even though he knew that he and Hannibal had taken great pains to ensure that nothing could be traced back to them and that, wherever possible, it would look like death had occurred through natural causes, surely the authorities couldn’t be that stupid? At some point, someone had to make the connection that people were being killed and a case would be opened, probably with Interpol, given that the crime scenes included multiple countries. It wasn’t that he wanted to get caught but he just had to question their luck so far. Inevitably it would have to run out at some point.

Maybe this would be the one that tipped the balance? Will thought of the three murders he planned to commit, counting the minutes until he was able to carry out his plan. Maybe he was going to go too far? Maybe it was too excessive. Then again, it was necessary. Bedelia needed reminding. She was only alive for as long as they wanted her to remain alive. At some point, she would face a reckoning. Maybe that would be soon, maybe it would be in the future but she would have to face that which Will had promised her.

And then the lights were dimming and the air was filled with the sound of the orchestra tuning, followed by applause as the conductor took his place on the podium before the swish of the curtain rising.

It took Will less than fifteen minutes to get bored. This was nothing like the operas that they had see in the other cities and countries. Not only was the Hungarian language hard to follow but there was no easily-discernible melody at all. The story was okay but, well, in all truthfulness, Will’s only interest was that there was the connection to that long ago conversation with Bedelia. Thank god it wasn’t a long opera. Knowing that he wasn’t going to last another forty-five/fifty minutes - even if he had been the one to suggest the outing - and that Hannibal would be seriously unimpressed if he walked out, Will decided to do something that he’d thought of more than once since they had started attending all of these operas.

Hoping that his actions couldn’t be seen in the low-light of the opera house, Will slid down onto his knees and ignored the look from Hannibal that was part curiosity, and then part censure when he realised Will's intentions. He slid a palm over the crotch of Hannibal’s tuxedo trousers, ignoring the reproving tug to his curls. Well, he assumed it was reproving. It could equally be encouraging. Sometimes difficult to tell with Hannibal. He took advantage of a particularly loud chord from the brass to unzip Hannibal’s fly and fish out his cock. He smirked as he saw Hannibal’s fingers clenched on the arm-rests of his chair as Will licked a stripe up Hannibal’s cock before engulfing it in his mouth, relaxing his throat as much as he could. Knowing precisely the effect that seeing Will’s mouth stretched around his cock had on Hannibal, Will looked up through his eyelashes to see that Hannibal wasn’t even looking at the stage. Under cover of the music, Will sucked and licked at Hannibal’s cock, taking it all the way down his throat until his nose was pressed to Hannibal’s pubic bone.

He smirked as Hannibal’s hips started to shift minutely as he tried desperately not to buck down Will’s throat and possibly draw attention to their actions. Will doubled his efforts and hummed gently around Hannibal’s shaft, knowing that the contractions of his throat would tip Hannibal over the edge, regardless of his formidable self-control. Finally, with nothing more than a soft gasp, barely heard over the orchestra, Hannibal’s semen was spilling down Will’s throat and he swallowed all of it without hesitation.

Licking his lips, he allowed himself to be tugged up onto Hannibal’s lap, turning his head to share the flavour of Hannibal’s seed with him.

“I cannot take you anywhere, can I? Shameless boy.” The words were whispered in Will’s ear as Hannibal’s lips found Will’s throat and a hand slid into Will’s trousers, palming his hard cock.

“You love that I’m shameless, don’t deny it.” Will tilted his head so that Hannibal had better access to the pulse point he was sucking on.

“That I do.”

Will didn't bother to move from Hannibal's lap for the rest of the opera. Even when they received a couple of scandalised glances from several elderly women seated near enough to see their positioning. Quite frankly, he didn’t care. The opera was bloody awful and Will was inordinately grateful that it was only an hour long; anything more would be interminable. It was definitely the worst opera that he had sat through with Hannibal; there was no discernable melody that Will could tell and the singing style was all speech-rhythm-imitation, Hungarian being rattled off at the speed of a machine-gun. Of course, Hannibal seemed to be enjoying it, but then it was probably right up his alley.

Eventually, they got to the bit that Will had been waiting for.

The final scene.

The reveal of Bluebeard’s wives.

The knowledge of what he was going to do later that evening, seeing a tamer depiction of it on stage, had Will so aroused that it was verging on the edge of painful, despite his recent orgasm. He rocked his hips, all but undulating in Hannibal's lap, feeling Hannibal's cock swell again beneath him.

“I booked a hotel room for the night. You need to take me there. Now.”

“It would be rude of us to leave before the curtain call. You know this, William.”

“You can either leave with me now or I will leave alone and satisfy myself. The choice is yours.” Will didn't hesitate for even a beat, sliding off Hannibal's lap and exiting the box. The door didn't even have the opportunity to close before Will heard footsteps behind him, Hannibal being uncharacteristically loud in his haste.

“I have never left a performance of any kind before the curtain call; it's disrespectful to the performers.”

“Don't worry, there's always a first time for everything. And besides, I want to...” Will whispered precisely what he wanted to do in Hannibal’s ear, smirking as Hannibal sped up, all but towing Will behind him.

(~*~)

When the little red digital numbers click over to the hour that he had been waiting for, Will found himself reluctant to drag himself from bed and the cosy little nest of blankets and Hannibal. Especially considering that Hannibal was delightfully naked and wrapped around Will as though he were a favoured plush toy. Still, there had been a purpose to this trip and Will would be damned if he was going back to their secluded home without carrying it out.

Extracting himself from Hannibal’s embrace hadn’t been easy. For all of Hannibal’s protests about leaving the opera before the curtain call the previous evening, he had been keen enough to leave once Will had given him an incentive. Will didn’t often take charge in the bedroom. Oh they flipped when it came to who topped and who bottomed but he didn’t truly take charge that often.

Last night had been an exception.

Will had barely been able to wait until they got into the lift at the hotel he had booked and, even then, he had been tearing at Hannibal’s pristine tuxedo. Well, it had been pristince. It now lay strewn around their hotel room and Will knew that he would have to find an expert tailor to repair it. As for Hannibal. Well, Will was certain that the only way that he was still asleep was because Will had all but mauled him until Hannibal had fallen into an exhausted sleep, using Will as a human teddy bear. Even now, there were visible scratches on his back and exposed thighs and a deep and bloodied mark on his throat, while Will could still taste the tang of copper in his mouth. Replacing the empty space in Hannibal’s arms with his pillow, Will dressed as silently as he could. Everything that he could possibly need was in the car.

Now, he had some hunting to do and a message to send.

It was only the second time that he had hunted without Hannibal and already Will wasn’t sure if he liked it. There was an intimacy to hunting with Hannibal, an added dimension to their relationship, which was obviously missing when he hunted alone. Getting in his car, he headed for Kálvin tér and his first bride.

Will hadn’t had specific targets picked out for this. He had a particular aesthetic that he was looking for but, beyond that, as long as they fit the criteria of being rude, he wasn’t picky. Although he hadn’t specifically pre-planned anything, he had found his first target the previous evening.

Prior to the opera, they had eaten in a restaurant called Costes, one of four Michelin-starred restaurants in Budapest. With a French chef and a large number of Hungarian wines on offer, the tasting menu was something to be experienced and, having read more than a few favourable reviews. The food - a pan-European tasting menu - had been excellent, although Will still infinitely preferred Hannibal’s creations, but the service not so. It was strange, in all of the reviews that Will had read, the service had been praised but their server had been anything but praiseworthy. She had been rude, dismissive and both Will and Hannibal had been guilty of all but fondling their steak knives at several of her muttered comments.

It had been easy enough for Will to jump her in one of the side-streets that bordered Kálvin tér as she left the restaurant after closing, distracted as she bitched into her phone to somebody about the customers that she had served and their behaviour.

With his first bride concealed in the boot of his car, Will set about seeking his second. All of the websites for tourists visiting Budapest told them not to trust the girls around Váci utca so that was precisely where Will went. They warned for women seeking easy money, luring unsuspecting tourists into bars by asking for directions and Will allowed himself to play the innocent, to act as though he had been duped by a pretty blonde who was older than she looked the closer you got. Given the late hour, most patrons were already in the various bars and being drunkenly conned out of their money, so it was easy enough for him to knock out the blonde’s companion and persuade her back to his car with the help of a scalpel in the small of her back.

With two ‘brides’ collected, Will then travelled to Blaha Lujza tér. It had been teeming earlier and the bars were still relatively busy. As such, it wasn’t too hard for Will to find someone who met his criteria when it came to both looks and rudeness. Some flirting and a couple of drinks later, it wasn’t hard to persuade her to leave her friends for a little dalliance and Will had his third bride in his car, seemingly passed out drunk but, in reality, with a broken neck and not waking up any time soon.

From Blaha Lujza tér, Will headed for a deserted spot where he could harvest the parts that he wanted. In all truthfulness, he hadn’t expected it to be as difficult as it was. Yes, dealing with the bone saw in Vienna had taken some getting used to but it had happened quickly enough. This was nothing like that. It was hard, far harder than Will had envisaged. Hannibal made it look simple. The reality couldn’t be more different.

Will felt clumsy, as though he was hacking at the bodies as he harvested various parts for Hannibal to partake in, should he want them. Why the fuck had he thought sweetbreads was a good idea? Far too over-bloody-ambitious. Why did this look so easy when Hannibal did it? Oh yeah, because the man was probably not even human, given that he excelled at absolutely everything. Blood, guts and various other bodily fluids and tissues spattered his face but, eventually, Will had the items that he was after and his “wives” were sewn up and placed in the boot of his car.

It was time to create some art. Send a message.

Will took a deep breath as he pulled the car over to a halt in Dalszínház Street. This was easily the most stressful part of the whole plan, not the actual murder but the displaying of the bodies. He had absolutely no idea how Hannibal had dealt with this for the years that he had been active as both the Chesapeake Ripper and the Copycat Killer. Oh, he knew that Hannibal held himself as being above the majority of people in terms of superiority but, even still.

There were two options, two places where Will could place the bodies. The first was outside the main foyer on Andrássy út, while the second was the private carriageway on Dalszínház Street. As hard as extracting the relevant body parts had been, that was nothing compared to this. Will knew exactly what he wanted, the aesthetic that he was after, it was just how he achieved it that was problematic. How the hell had Hannibal done this in Baltimore? Will was nervous enough in Budapest, and that was somewhere where the CCTV cameras were straight out of the nineties, thanks to the opera house being situated in district six. Half of the cameras were privately owned and not really kept up, while the other half were ostensibly owned and run by the police but, in reality, they didn’t give a shit and didn’t really keep a continuous watch on them.

In the end, Will opted for the private carriageway. It may not be as opulent and extravagant a display as he intended but it would do the job. It’s poor lighting and high walls would also ensure that Will gets didn’t caught or, at the very least, lower the risk. The streets were empty, especially compared to the streets where Will had snatched his rude, but he knew that they weren’t going to remain that way for long. He was running out of time and was going to have to work quickly.

The first two bodies were comparatively easy. There were lamps on wrought iron fixtures that were both ornate enough and sturdy enough that would hold the bodies for as long as Will needed. It wouldn’t have the same appearance as the scene in the opera but it didn’t need to. Part of Will wondered if this was going a little too far, if the fact that he was taking the aesthetic presentation of three corpses more seriously than the ethical concerns of actually creating said corpses was a sign that there was something very wrong with him. But he only considered it for seconds and then dismissed it, continuing with his task.

There wasn’t going to be any disguising the somewhat clumsy stitching from Will’s harvesting but there didn’t need to be. He tied a length of strong black rope around their necks and then threw it around the iron fixtures, using them as a pulley system to suspend the bodies before tying off the rope. It wasn't as aesthetically pleasing as his efforts at Castle Lecter, but then he was working under different circumstances. It was as he was working on the third body - the third wife - that Will ran into problems.

This was the hostess of the restaurant that they had eaten in. She was slightly heavier built than the other two women but not by much yet, for some reason, the ropes didn't want to hold; they kept slipping before Will could tie them off. He had just got them to hold when he heard the unmistakable sound of a car engine coming down the road and getting closer with every passing second. Will held his breath, pulse racing and blood roaring in his ears. He was pretty confident that, between the darkness of the late - or early - hour and the poor, virtually non-existent lighting on that side of the building that he wouldn’t be spotted but there was always the possibility. But, there was no screeching of brakes, no-one coming to investigate and no sound of sirens. Instead, the sound of engines merely passed by and disappeared into the distance. Will waited for long seconds to ensure that the coast was clear before he continued with his work, securing the ropes on his final bride.

It had been too close. It may be a while before he went hunting again. Throwing the unused items in the boot of the car, Will snapped a series of photos on his phone, examining them critically to make sure he had what he needed before he left. The light was dark, maybe a little too dark for the images to be perfect, but it was still clear that all three women were blonde and of a certain age. It was also very apparent that all three women were unquestionably dead. Satisfied, Wil got back in the car and drove off back in the direction of the hotel.

Bed - and Hannibal - called.

When Will returned to the hotel, toting his coolbox, Hannibal was still asleep, wrapped around Will’s pillow. He should probably get a shower, remove any lingering scents from his excursion but, honestly, the sight of Hannibal was just so tempting that, in all actuality, he just stripped and got back under the covers. He couldn’t resist swiping through the photos, feeling rather pleased with them, even as Hannibal nuzzled against the back of Will’s neck.

It had been undoubtedly stressful, moreso than Vienna had been, and Will was fairly convinced that he never wanted to harvest organs again but it would be worth it if Bedelia got the message. For now, he had to get some sleep before he could carry out the next part of his plan.

 (~*~)

Less than four hours later, Will left Hannibal in bed for the second time and went to the nearest place that developed photos were, in a combination of his broken Hungarian, English and a lot of pointing, he managed to get the photos he had taken developed through the use of a self-service machine, avoiding the shop assistant and hiding them amidst landscape shots. Purchasing an envelope and the necessary postage from a corner shop, he scrawled a quick message on the back of the photo.

_‘You once said that, if you were to be Bluebeard’s wife, you would’ve preferred to be the last. That position is already filled. Don’t forget, Bedelia. Meat’s back on the menu.’_

He didn’t sign it. He didn’t have to. Instead, he slipped it into the envelope and sealed it before slipping into the first post-box that he walked past. Bedelia would understand and know precisely who had sent it. He hoped it would be enough to get his point across. His objective completed, he headed back to the hotel where he hoped that Hannibal was still in bed. He wasn’t disappointed but then, neither was Hannibal happy.

“Would you care to explain why I woke to cold sheets and a pillow stuffed in my arms rather than my husband not once but twice in the last twelve hours?”

Hannibal’s tone had an edge to it that Will disregarded as he smiled enigmatically and stripped, slipping into the bed and wrapping himself around Hannibal in his usual position of choice.

“I had an errand to run.”

“An errand that consisted of two parts - one in the early hours of the morning - and perhaps a murder or three?”

“You knew.”

“You are aware that I have a particularly strong olfactory sense. I could smell the blood on you when you returned to bed this morning. Now, the question is. What is more important than your husband and required you to leave our bed twice?”

Will scoffed. “As if you don't know. Simply a reminder for an old ... friend. I found the opera rather inspiring last night. Nothing to concern yourself about and certainly not more important than you.”

“That reminder wouldn’t have anything to do with the breaking news reports that three bodies were found hanging outside the Royal Hungarian Opera House this morning, would it?”

“Why would you think that?”

“Well, merely the fact that all three bodies – women of a certain age – were discovered in the area leading to the box office and are believed to bring to mind Bluebeard’s wives. And then there’s the fact that all three, judging by the rather grainy photographs making the rounds, bear a startling resemblance to a blonde psychiatrist that we both know.”

“I can’t imagine where you’d get such an idea.”

“No? It is just a shame that Bedelia will never know. Or,” Hannibal’s grin turned shark-like as he quickly made the connection, “the reminder. My mongoose, how I love you.”

“Is that so?”

“Without question.”

“Would you love me more if I brought you a gift?” Will turned his head in the direction of the small cooler, just visible in the dim morning light where it sat by the door.

“Nothing could make me love you more, Will. You are my world, my moon and stars,” Hannibal ignored Will's muttered ‘oh my god, you sap’ and continued talking, “although I must confess that you hunting and bringing me back the spoils of your victory has far exceeded my wildest dreams.”

Will couldn't help but roll his eyes. He didn't think that he would ever have a high tolerance for Hannibal's over-flowery use of prose. “Hannibal, I had a craving for your sweetbreads and a message to send. That's all. It's not like what I did in Vienna, nowhere near as impressive.”

“Maybe not, but the sentiment is very much appreciated. At least by me. Bedelia may not feel the same.”

Will smirked, “maybe not but I'm sure she'll get the point I'm trying to make. Now, enough talking. You're going to fuck me and then you're going to take me home and make me sweetbreads. Getting the right parts was a total pain in the ass and not something I plan on repeating. Between this and Vienna, you're doing all of the harvesting from now on.” As Will had expected, the pained look on Hannibal's face at Will's use of expletives faded away at the prospect of cooking for Will. He could write a book by now; ‘How to read your cannibal 101’. It would be a niche market with just the one print run but he could do it. It would be better written than Frederick's attempts as well.

“Is that so? Demanding creature, aren't you?”

“Would you have me any other way?”

“Not at all.”

“Good. Now put your back into it,” Will grinned as he pulled Hannibal on top of him and groped for the lube, “I'm hungry already.”


	10. о, почему я влюбился в тебя и гореть от страсти только для вас?

So far, St Petersburg was not a success and they had been here less than a week. In fact, describing it as a disaster was probably apt, if not a little overdramatic. For a start, Will wasn’t entirely sure why they were here and secondly, it was far too bloody cold for Will’s liking.

It was the cold that had caused all of the problems. Well, the most pressing of Will’s problems which was namely the fact that Will had been relegated to the sofa instead of sleeping in the bed with Hannibal and, worse than that, cut off from sex. Withholding sex was something that Will thought of on a semi-regular basis and that he had even threatened Hannibal with a couple of times when he was being even more ridiculous than usual but, nine times out of ten, he didn’t follow through because he had known that Hannibal was a fucking ridiculous human being from the start and also because denying sex was just as much a punishment for Will as it was for Hannibal. Which made the fact that Hannibal had followed through all the more frustrating. Especially considering that this debacle was over a bloody hat.

He wasn’t even sure why they were in Russia to start with. When Hannibal had suggested moving on after Budapest, Will had half-expected Hannibal to suggest Lithuania. After all, the were probably the closest that they had been at any point and he knew - he may have done some discreet research - that Vilnius had a respectable opera house that housed the Lithuanian National Ballet and Opera. Or, given his message to Bedelia, Baltimore. He hadn’t expected Russia. Of course, Will’s confusion had combined with unhappiness when Hannibal had stated his intentions to get the train. Will had thought the journey through Germany to Bayreuth had been bad, but this was going to be over thirty hours on a train as they passed through Warsaw and Moscow before reaching St. Petersburg.

It was a well-known fact that travelling together often had the ability to either make or break a relationship, and many a relationship had broken apart after a holiday. Not so with Will and Hannibal; they had survived their Grand Tour so far but then considering that they had survived manipulation, serious illness, incarceration - for both of them, cannibalism and serial killing, a trip around Europe was nothing. Although, this train journey was the closest that they had come to killing each other since Cuba. One thing that Will was positive about was that, whatever lay ahead in their future, there wouldn’t be any train journeys if he had anything to say about it.

Whilst they had survived, one of their train companions on the journey from Moscow hadn’t been so lucky. They had made the journey aboard the Grand Express train, an overnight journey on a luxury train run by a private company. Of course, because it was Hannibal, he had reserved one of the Grand Imperial cabins for them. The bed was still the size of a postage stamp given that they were on a train but, they had survived both prison and the journey from the cliffs to Cuba, so sleeping virtually on top of each other overnight was nothing to them. And, it at least gave them a private bathroom.

If they had wanted it, their ticket included the option of dinner served in their cabin but, without really discussing it, Hannibal and Will had decided to eat in the dining car instead. It was here that they had met their obnoxious companion for the almost nine hour journey. In many ways, he was far too reminiscent of their homophobic, bigoted tenor in Bayreuth. After Hannibal had posited Russia as the next venue on their grand tour, they had both considered the possibility of Russian attitudes to their relationship before deciding to go ahead regardless. They hadn’t quite been expecting the vitriol to start almost the second that they stepped into the dining cart.

While they had dined on pelmeni, golubtsy and beef stroganoff, another of the patrons had started muttering under his breath, complaining about them flaunting their relationship when they were doing nothing of the sort. They had ignored him, choosing to focus on their food but, when he realised that he was being ignored, he simply got louder until other patrons started to take notice. This man was almost a carbon copy of the homophobic tenor that they had dealt with in Bayreuth. He had paid for his poisonous tongue and the temptation to do the same here was intense.

It was a little hard to believe that, back then, Will had been almost reluctant to participate. How he had told Hannibal before they had met the bigoted Canet that they couldn’t murder someone at every opera they attended, before being forced to eat his own words. How things changed. Once upon a time, Will had told Hannibal off for fondling the silverware as he envisioned killing one of their dinner guests. Now, here was Will doing precisely that and the gleam in Hannibal's eye showed that he approved very much.

As tempting as it had been for them to slip their knives up a sleeve using sleight of hand, it would have been a dead giveaway. Besides, why would they do that when they already had a collection of Hannibal's preferred scalpels to choose from in their cabin. Instead, they bided their time and watched as he drank enough vodka that the bile he was spewing was slurred and almost incomprehensible. They left before him so as to not arouse suspicions and separated outside the dining car, Hannibal returning to their cabin to retrieve his scalpels while Will remained, hiding himself so that he couldn't be spotted but that he could keep an eye on their prey.

It was far too simple in many ways. The man was so drunk that he didn't notice them following him when he left the dining cart and too inebriated to put up much of a fight beyond some rather uncoordinated flailing of his arms when they cornered him. It wasn't as satisfying as Chilton had been or Freddie. It wasn't even as satisfying as his efforts in Vienna and Budapest. Still, after six solo kills, relished feeling Hannibal next to him as their blades plunged into the man's body, feeling the warmth of his blood spilling over their hands and spattering arterial blood across their faces as Hannibal's blade arced across his throat.

There wasn't the opportunity for harvesting. The train might not have that many passengers or CCTV but it was still too much of a risk. Instead, they had to settle for trading bloody, biting kisses, revelling in the look of disgust on his face, even as the light faded from his eyes. They had simply pushed his body out of the window, knowing that it would be miles behind them in a matter of minutes. There was nothing for miles, so the likelihood was that, even if his body was found, there wouldn't be much left once the local wildlife had had a go. Riding high from the thrill of the kill, they hardly waited for the body to disappear into the darkness before they retreated to their cabin, tearing at each other's clothes and chasing the taste of blood from their lips.

It was when the train came to halt in St Petersburg that Will's problems really started. Somehow, he hadn't really been aware of change in temperature as they had made their way east; other than relatively quick changes at stations, they had been inside various trains and toasty warm for the better part of two days. Then, add to that the fact that the journey north from Moscow had been overnight, Will was quite surprised to emerge from Moskovsky station to find a world bathed in early morning light and covered in snow. Realistically, he had known that there would be snow - this was Russia in January, after all - but he hadn’t quite been prepared for the reality of so much snow. And then he had turned to Hannibal and burst into near hysterical laughter.

Hannibal had made some utterly ridiculous sartorial choices over the years that Will had seen. He'd had to make a serious effort on numerous occasions to not burst into laughter, restraining himself to sniggering with Beverly in private. The clear plastic murder suit was one of them as was the proliferation of clashing patterns that his suits had been made from. This, though? He thought this one topped the lot and he couldn't restrain himself, nor did he want to. In deference to the cold, Hannibal had donned a hat, but it was no ordinary hat. No, it was a black furry monstrosity complete with ear flaps. Yet, even as ridiculous as it was, the bastard still looked attractive. And then he arched an eyebrow and Will couldn't help it. On the steps of Moskovsky station, earning himself puzzled glances from more than a few strangers, he stood there and laughed until his stomach ached and Hannibal's lips pursed with his displeasure.

And so it was that Will spent the first four nights of their Russian sojourn sleeping on the sofa. All because he had mocked Hannibal's totally ridiculous hat. Bloody cold and snow.  Whatever reason Hannibal had for dragging them here, whatever opera he wanted them to see - because there would be one - it had better be bloody good. One thing was definitely for sure; wherever they went next, and without question wherever they ended up, snow would be a freak phenomenon caused by climate change. Will's sanity - and sex life - depended on it. 

~*~

Just as the Teatro Opera della Roma, the Mikhailovsky Theatre in St Petersburg was rather unassuming, no grandiose facade like the other opera houses that they had visited. The interior, however, was just as gaudy and lavish as the rest of them. To tell the truth, Will wasn't paying much attention to it. Whilst undoubtedly impressive - perhaps even more so given that, at one point it had been the Leningrad State Academic Maly Opera Theatre - he was starting to get the point of slight oversaturation. Once you had seen the interior of one opera house, you had seen them all. Especially as it seemed de rigueur to decorate then with as much red velvet and gilt as possible, not to mention the more ostentatious apparently the chandeliers the better.

One thing that Will was desperately hoping for was that an opera in Russian wasn't as bad as an opera in Hungarian.  Maybe if he was lucky, this one would have a tune? At least he was better rested now that he had been allowed back into the marital bed. 

_***FLASHBACK***_

After four nights of sleeping on the sofa, complete with aching back and the return of his nightmares, Will knew that he needed to apologise to Hannibal, even if the man was being the most excessive of drama queens. He needed to sleep in a proper bed with Hannibal's arms around him. Some sex would be quite nice as well.

He had apologised in a way that only they would, that only they could. Will had mentally replayed their actions since their arrival, found a rude pig, gone out into the streets of St Petersburg and had made a gift of him for Hannibal. It wasn't ideal. As lax as the Russian authorities may be, it wasn't a good idea to leave a replica of a Ripper corpse for them to find. Which meant that Will had to improvise. The killing was the easy bit, the satisfying bit. The harvesting less so, but it was easier than it had been in Budapest and it was necessary. At least the particular organ he was after was relatively easy to access, once he'd broken open the chest cavity that was.

He had positioned his pig as a penitent, hands bound and proffered in front of him, and really the colour of blood on the snow was quite beautiful. He had then placed the man's heart in his cupped hands, simultaneously an offering and an apology. If he wanted to claim to be romantic, it could also be seen as a reference to the Dante that Hannibal had quoted at him in Rome. It might not be his physical heart that Will was offering but he had no doubt that, pissed as he might be, Hannibal infinitely preferred Will's heart in his chest. Hannibal would understand the sentiment regardless.

Just as in Budapest, Will had to rely on photographic evidence. He took a multitude of shots on his phone from every possible angle before he dismantled his tableaux. With the heart safely and carefully stored in a cool bag to give to Hannibal, Will continued with the rest of his plan. The key was making it look as far away from a Ripper kill as possible, just on the off-chance that the reports had made it this far. He dragged the body to the back of a local bar, hid it in a corner behind some bins and soused it with the contents of a bottle of vodka. He had noticed that this particular bar had a pack of feral dogs that scavenged around it for food and he was counting on them to help.

As he had hoped, it didn't take long for the scent of blood to attract them, sniffing around his chosen pig with interest. It wasn't the same quality of meat that he would have fed his pack and Will was well-aware of the risks of feeding dogs raw meat but he had a feeling that that didn't bother these dogs. It saddened him but, if they had had homes once, it had been a long time ago. He didn't even think the taste of vodka bothered them if the speed with which they tore into him was anything to go by. Satisfied that things were going as he had envisaged, Will had returned home armed with the photos and his cool bag.

All in all, his apology had been taken better than Will could have hoped for.

They hadn't even made it to the bedroom until the third round. Upon seeing the photos and the contents of the little cool bag, Hannibal had simply bent Will over the table and taken him then and there. Oh, he'd probably bitch and moan about it, how unsanitary it was, when he'd come down from his post-orgasmic/Will just killed someone for me (again) high but, for the time being, Will was just going to revel in the fact that he'd managed to convince Hannibal to defile his beloved kitchen for a second time. 

_***END FLASHBACK***_

By the time that the interval arrived, Will was in absolutely no doubt as to why Hannibal had chosen this particular production for them to watch. It was significant, just as Duke Bluebeard’s Castle had been. At least there were more melodies than that particular opera, although Will wondered if there was anything that could make the Cyrillic language lose it's harsh edge. Not knowing anything about the opera, he had assumed that it was an alternative slant on Shakespeare. A brief lesson from Hannibal had informed him that that was not the case, it was apparently instead based on a novel by Nikolai Leskov, and that the titular character - one Katerina Izmailova - was nicknamed Lady Macbeth for her murderous tendencies.

In his mind's eye, Hannibal had clearly cast them all in roles within the opera. Jack was Boris Izmailov, Katerina's father-in-law, never happy with her and always shouting. Will had clearly been cast in the role of the unhappy Katerina. Will had been tempted to roll his eyes at the line “One day follows another without happiness” but there was no denying the apt way they described his time working with Jack. The question was, which role had Hannibal assigned himself? None of the characters in the opera were paragons or even particularly nice people but, then again Will supposed, neither were he, Hannibal or Jack. He presumed, going with the metaphorical slant Hannibal had taken, that he had cast himself as Sergey - the lover that Katerina took who helped her kill her husband. Presumably Hannibal was seeing it as symbolic of them killing Dolarhyde together. Basically, what it amounted to was clearly Hannibal's attempt at subtly asking Will if he was willing to kill Jack Crawford and Will wasted no time getting to the point at the interval.

“Did you really bring me to Russia to see an opera in the hopes that I would understand the symbolism and see the parallels between us and the people we've known? Surely there was another opera house somewhere nearer? Or warmer?”

“My poor mongoose. You truly dislike the cold, don't you?”

“I'm not the biggest fan. Dad and I would get as far as Lake Erie but never in the winter and there's a big difference between winter in Maryland and winter in fucking Russia. And answer the question, was this really necessary?”

“What?”

“The thinly veiled suggestion that I kill Jack. Don't bother saying anything now, we'll discuss it when we get home.” 

(~*~)

Will had started second-guessing who Hannibal had cast himself as in the opera by the time that the opera had finished and they had returned home. He had been so convinced that it was Sergey after the scene in which Katerina and her lover killed her husband, but then there had been the final scene where Katerina had killed Sonyetka by throwing them both into the river. Was that an allusion to Will throwing them over the bluff? He supposed that it didn’t really matter in the end, Hannibal’s message was clear.

“Well, let’s discuss it then. How long were you going to string out our European tour before you finally told me?”

“Told you what?”

“ _Hannibal._ Stop being deliberately obtuse, it’s not an endearing quality. I've known for a while now what your intentions have been. Really, I'm still a little surprised that you managed to go unnoticed as the Ripper for so long; you were hardly subtle with all your little cannibal puns. We've already killed Chilton and Freddie Lounds. That only leaves Bedelia, Alana and Jack. Given that you've already tried to kill Jack once, it's not a total stretch of the imagination to imagine you wanting to finish the job. You don't like leaving things unfinished.”

“It’s twice actually. And how do you feel about that? Me wanting to kill Jack?”

“Surprisingly ambivalent. Why do you ask? Is it any different to killing Chilton or Freddie or the multitude of others that we've killed since Cuba?”

“You know it is, Will. Jack was your friend.”

“No, he wasn't. Beverly was my friend and somehow I’m still in love with you, even after you made her into salami. Jack was a colleague, my boss, he was never a friend. As messed up as it is, you were probably more of a friend to me than Jack Crawford ever was. You and I both know that the Ripper is Jack’s white whale; he’ll never stop hunting you - hunting us - until you’re dead. We won’t be able to stop looking over our shoulders until we know that he isn’t searching anymore and the only way that Jack will stop searching is if he’s dead. Ergo, we don’t have much choice.”

“You are right. Choices aside, if we do this, then we do it together. Jack is a formidable adversary. I cannot do this alone; our previous interactions have shown me that.”

“Then you’d better tell me your plan, because I have no doubt that you have one. It’s going to have to be flawless because, let me tell you, I have no intentions whatsoever for us to end up in prison or dead. I'm tired of moving from place to place, living from nothing more than a few suitcases. I fully intend for us to spend the rest of our lives together in freedom so, let’s hear it. We’ll have to see if it needs alteration.”

“Mylimasis, how alluring you are when you’re plotting. Almost as tempting as when you're covered in blood.”

“Yes, well, however turned on you are it will have to wait. This is more important.” 

~*~

On the morning that they were due to leave for Baltimore, much as Will had done in Budapest, Hannibal left his husband sleeping in their bed. They had a long journey ahead of them and Will was not a fan of long-haul travel so it was best to let him get as much rest as possible. When they reached their destination, things wouldn’t be easy either. Besides, Hannibal had something that he needed to do before they left.

Something that had been a long time coming.

He made his way through the city to Yelagin Island, where it lay surrounded on all sides by the Neva River. Despite the freezing temperatures, the river hadn’t frozen over although there were large chunks of ice floating in the water. The island was usually popular given the presence of the palace and the mini zoo but there were few foolhardy enough to brave it just after six am in the middle of winter. He cut away from the palace, heading towards the west side of the island. There, on an otherwise deserted riverbank, he found the person he was seeking, standing as she had been every morning for the last week. The person - the reason - that he had brought them to St Petersburg. Confident after all of his observations that they were quite alone, he made his way to stand beside her, staring at the same vista.

“Hello, Alana.”

There was an audible gasp and flinch from the figure who took several seconds to respond to Hannibal’s greeting. She didn't run though. Not for the first time, Hannibal wondered what won out; his admiration for her bravery or his disdain for her stupidity. Things would be so much easier for her if she was able to leave things alone.

“Hannibal.” Alana’s voice was thin and audibly nervous as she tried to stop it from quavering and Hannibal decided that he couldn’t help but admire her bravery, even now. "I had hoped that Russia was far away enough from Baltimore to never see anyone I knew again."

“Alas, not. How have you been? I hope Margot and your son, Morgan, was it? I hope they’re well.”

“You’re not here to trade pleasantries, Hannibal, so cut the bullshit. How did you survive against Dolarhyde? That plan of Will's never should have worked.”

“I see you haven’t changed in essentials, Alana. Straight to the point. As for how we survived, well, you give Will far too little credit. We survived thanks to his quick thinking and forward planning.”

“How did you find me? How did you know I’d be here? How did you know that we were in St Petersburg?”

“I have known where you and your family have been every single day since you left the Verger estate. I have my ways and means. You've grown complacent thinking that I was dead, never realising you were being watched.”

“So, what, you’ve been stalking us?”

“Stalking is such a strong word, rather crude for my tastes. It would also imply that I don't have anything else to do with my time. Nothing could be further from the truth. And don’t think that my knowing your whereabouts makes you special; you aren’t the only person that I have kept my eye on.”

“Just your eye? Or your scalpel as well?”

“Ah, you know me well.”

“No, Hannibal, I don’t think I ever really knew you at all.” Alana paused before she spoke again, “what about Will?”

“I had wondered if you would ask after him. He is indeed still alive. My husband is currently asleep in our bed. At least, he was when I left him.”

There was a distinct choking noise, “husband? You’re married? To Will?!”

“We are. It was a beautiful ceremony in the Norman Chapel in Palermo. We honeymooned in Florence. So many memories there, as I’m sure you’ll remember.”

“God, you’re unbelievable.”

“Now, now, no need for rudeness. Shall we get down to business? As pleasant as all of this catching up is, I do have plans for today. Do you remember what I said to you last time I saw you, Alana?” He saw Alana blanch and allowed himself a small smile. “You died in my kitchen, Alana, when you chose to be brave. Every moment since then has been borrowed. Your wife, your child - they belong to me. You made a bargain for Will’s life, and then I spun you gold.”

“So, what? You’re here to kill me because of something you said to me when I had you imprisoned in the BSHCI?”

“No. Not for that reason alone. There are many reasons as to why I’m going to kill you, just one of them being the promise that I made. It was inevitable that I would do so, surely you know that? I will be considerate, for my husband’s sake and for whatever … fondness I once had for you. For the fondness Will once held for you.” The way that Hannibal’s tongue curled around the word fondness implied that the emotion hadn’t been genuine. “Your wife and child will remain alive. Sadly, you will not.” 

“Go on then. Why? If you’re going to kill me, then the least you can do is tell me why.”

“Very well. My promise is merely the start of it. There are many reasons. Your treatment of my beloved over the years, your treatment of myself during my incarceration. The benevolent overlord you were not. You claim that I am a master manipulator, yet you excel with the best of us. All of these things have contributed.”

“How do you plan on killing me? Which organ will you be removing? Am I going to end up served at your table?”

“Not at all, you know how picky I am about what I serve at my table. Besides, we’ve moved away from my former showpieces, more understated displays. As for the method of your death. Tell me, Alana, are you familiar with the opera _Lady Macbeth of the Mtsensk District_? It’s sometimes known as _Katerina Izmailova_.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“It has everything to do with your last moments on this Earth. I wish I could say that I’m sorry it came down to this, but I’m not. Goodbye, Alana.”

One good push was all that was needed. Hannibal had done his preparation, as always. During his observations, he had noticed that Alana always stood in the same place on the riverbank. The water was not necessarily the deepest at that particular point and, were it the summer, things wouldn’t have worked. However, the temperature of water worked in Hannibal’s favour. The scream was loud in the silence, short, sharp and disrupting several birds nesting nearby by Hannibal wasn’t concerned that it would garner any attention.

He watched dispassionately as Alana flailed in the freezing cold water, desperately trying to gain purchase on the ice and failing miserably. With every passing minute, it took longer for her to break the surface of the water, her attempts for air were shallower and her arms were heavier. The freezing cold temperature of the water was taking its toll, slowing Alana’s reactions as her body shut down. It was less personal than he might have liked, less hands-on, but it was in keeping their other kills and Hannibal liked the continuity. It appealed to him although using a scalpel would have appealed more. And Alana would have made such a beautiful tableaux.

Finally, she didn’t break the water again, her body merely bobbing face-down in the water. The current would carry it towards the city and she would be discovered eventually. With no marks on her, it would merely be presumed that she had fallen and drowned; a tourist who hadn’t understand the dangers of a Russian winter.

He had kept his promise to Alana. Now, it was time to keep one final promise he had made to himself and, in order to do that, he had a husband to collect and a flight to catch. 

~*~

As they took their seats on the plane in first class, accepting a glass of champagne from the flight attendant. Will couldn’t help the flutter of nerves in the pit of his stomach. This plane would take them from Pulkovo to London Heathrow. Once there, they would get a connecting flight to Toronto, where they would cross the land border with the US at the Peace Bridge at the eastern end of Lake Erie. The crossing was one of the busiest with potential delays of up to four hours and they were hoping that, between their fake passports and less stringent checks, their arrival would go under the radar. From there, they would simply drive down to New York and carry out their plan.

The United States.

It was strange to think that they were going back, even if it was just temporarily. Will didn’t know if Hannibal had a plan once they had dealt with Jack; if he had, then he hadn’t shared it with Will. It had been the best part of eighteen months since Will had thrown them off the bluff and, in truth, he wasn’t sure that he had ever expected to return. He certainly wasn’t returning out of choice. As he had said to Hannibal, Will was tired of running, tired of living out of suitcases - albeit a lot of them given that this was Hannibal -, tired of not having a fixed address. They weren’t going to have any of those things while Jack Crawford was still alive and Will wanted all of those things badly. Killing Jack was a means to an end and, given how desperately he wanted the end, Will was willing to bypass any ethical concerns he might have once had. Strange how ethical concerns had never come into it with Chilton and others.

He took a sip of his champagne as the plane started to taxi towards the runway before slanting his eyes in Hannibal’s direction. He took in the patrician profile, able to read the slight lines of tension around Hannibal’s eyes and mouth, that would be invisible to everyone else. Will knew exactly why those lines were there. He knew that, whilst he might not have said anything, Hannibal was concerned about how Will would deal with all of this when it came to the end. That he was worried that Will wasn’t going to be able to go through with killing Jack as they had discussed and planned. It was as though the last eighteen months hadn’t convinced him of anything. Of course, there was one other thing that he knew was playing on Hannibal’s mind. Biding his time and picking the moment carefully, Will waited until the were in the air and Hannibal had taken a sip of his own champagne before he spoke.

“So, were you ever going to tell me about Alana?”

Were Hannibal like any other human being, he would have spat out the champagne and, secretly, Will had been hoping that he would do precisely that. Just for comedy value. Of course, because this was Hannibal and he was as far from being like any other human being as possible, his reaction was limited to a slight widening of his eyes and a more pronounced bobbing of his Adam’s apple than normal. Will was a little disappointed, if not entirely unsurprised.

“How long have you known?”

“That you met her? I knew it was inevitable when we spotted her. You're not the only one who notices things. Was she the reason that we ended up St Petersburg? Did you know they were here?” Hannibal didn’t speak, merely inclined his head, so Will continued speaking. “Of course, you did. You kept tabs on Freddie, Chilton, Bedelia, Jack. It makes sense that you kept an eye on Alana as well. It explains Russia as well. I thought it was a strange choice of destination.” Will dropped his voice so only Hannibal could hear him, “I have one more question; is she still alive?”

“No.” Hannibal looked around them to ensure that nobody was listening to them. First class was empty barring themselves and a couple of businessmen who were situated on the other side of the cabin and engrossed in their work, but it never hurt to check. “There is no point in my obfuscating. No, she is not still alive, but Margot and Morgan are. Her behaviour with them - her love for them - was her one saving grace and ensured their survival. However, when it came to her actions towards us - towards you - there was too much for her to atone for. Amongst other things, I had made a promise, and I always keep my promises.”

Once upon a time, Will would have quibbled that. Would have argued that Hannibal's actions had been wrong, unjustifiable. There had been a long time where he had been inordinately fond of Alana, had fancied himself more than a little in love with her but those days seemed like a lifetime ago. She had changed. And not for the better. He could miss the woman and the friend that she had once been without regretting her death. If Hannibal said that he had made a promise, then Alana’s death had been inevitable, and she had simply been living on borrowed time.

“So that’s it. After Jack, it’s over. It’s just us.”

“Yes, my mongoose. It will be the end. For those we know at least.”

Will grinned and raised his glass in a silent toast that Hannibal mimicked. “Well that goes without saying.”


	11. Caro, ti stringo al seno; ha cangiato vicende il nostro fato

It was with no little trepidation that Jack climbed the steps of the Baltimore Opera House in a tuxedo that hadn’t been worn for a long time and thus felt more than a little uncomfortable. All around him, couples and groups of friends chatted excitedly about the performance, the reviews that it had received, their lives in general. While he did not begrudge them their happiness, all it did was serve to highlight Jack’s loneliness and the feeling that he was all alone.

Because, in essence, he was. Now more so than ever.

After Bella had died, it had felt like half of him had been ripped away, something that he would never get back. It was lost forever, just like his beloved. He had found some small consolation in his work, his colleagues and his friends. But, then that too had been ripped away by the actions of Will - and to a similar extent, Hannibal - on the cliffs in Baltimore. They had dealt with Dolarhyde but, in doing so, had brought Jack's world to its knees.

Work hadn't been the same. It didn’t help that, before he was “retired” he had been sidelined for a lot of active cases, relegated to paperwork for most of the time. Those cases that he was allowed in the field, well, it didn’t feel the same as it once did. Jimmy Price and Brian Zeller were still there of course but Jack had never truly considered them to be friends and the double act grew thin after a while, grating on his nerves. After what had happened with Will and Hannibal, he wasn't trusted quite so much by his superiors, and he didn't trust himself either. If he was honest, his heart wasn't truly in it anymore. Hadn’t been for years. He had emptied it off the Ponte Santa Trinita in Florence. The problem was, with not even work to throw himself into, that fact couldn’t be more apparent. He was just going through the motions, getting through one day and into the next, seemingly with no end in sight.

He still couldn’t quite believe it though.

They were all gone. Kade Prurnell. Frederick Chilton. Freddie Lounds. Alana Bloom. If you ignored Price and Zeller - who were apparently beneath notice- the only ones left were Jack and Bedelia.

After his visit to Bedelia's hospital room, and having received his invitation, something had made Jack check on the others, all of those who had been close to Will and Hannibal. He hadn’t liked what he found. Chilton, missing from his apartment in Dresden along with his passport. Freddie Lounds, found dead in the courtyard of Castel Sant’Angelo, emails found on her phone giving rise to the belief that a potential story could be behind her death. At least that was what the Italian police had believed. Alana Bloom, fished from the frozen River Neva, her wife and son gone to ground. Looking at them all separately, there was nothing to imply that anything sinister was at play or any way to connect the deaths other than the fact that the victims had all known each other. But Jack knew better. These weren’t accidents or suicides, they were murders. And he knew the culprits.

The Murder Husbands. Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham.

From there, Jack had done some more digging. He had barely slept, using what clearance he still had, calling in favours left, right and centre to search for any deaths that fitted the modus operandi of the Chesapeake Ripper. When nothing turned up, he wasn't entirely surprised. Lecter had proved that he was more than capable of hiding his murderous activities while still appearing utterly respectable during his time in Baltimore, so it stood to reason that he would change his methods so as to go undetected. There was also the fact that he was now with Will, which meant that he had insider knowledge and Will's mind to help them hide their kills.

Not for the first time, Jack rued the fact that the decision had been taken to assume that the two of them were dead following the events at the clifftop house. It had been an executive decision, not one that Jack had necessarily agreed with. The coastline and the surrounding area had been searched and roadblocks put in place but, when there had been no sign of them after a couple of days, it had been called off with alerts being placed at all of the nearby airports. Irrespective of the amount of blood that there had been, there had only been one body - that of Dolarhyde - and that should have been enough to set alarm bells ringing. Lecter and Graham were too wily, too clever. They had that survival instinct, they would have had a plan.

Frustratingly, just as every attempt he had made to find them over the better part of the last two years, Jack's search turned up nothing. There were no kills reminiscent of the Chesapeake Ripper anywhere in Europe. Only if you went back far enough to Il Mostro in Florence. There was nothing for it but to widen his search. He searched for any unusual murders that had occurred in the last eighteen months. There were plenty of cases. Jack had thought that he’d seen it all over his years chasing the Ripper as well as the killers he’d seen - the mushroom guy sprang to mind, as did the Angelmaker - but it would seem like all of the weird serial killers _weren’t_ restricted to the States. Some of the case he found were closed, most still open, but none of them felt right. None of them triggered that gut instinct in Jack that it was the murder husbands at work.

In the end, just as he had been despairing that he wasn’t going to find anything, he had struck gold when he had remembered Bedelia’s comment about opera. Kade had been killed at the opera while Bedelia had been sent a postcard by Will that alluded to a Hungarian opera. What if opera was the key? It was just the kind of obscure, artistic bent to murder that would appeal to Hannibal.

He had altered his search parameters and then tried again. This time, he had been successful. Germany, Italy, Budapest. Hell, even Cuba. Every single country had murders in opera houses. Each victim had been killed in a different manner, which was why they hadn’t shown up in Jack’s original search. Other than the fact that each victim had been killed in an opera house, there wasn’t a true pattern but, now that he had found it, Jack was convinced that this was them. It all fit. He hadn’t found a reason as to why each of the victims had been killed but, considering that this was Hannibal, he didn’t really need to. There was no doubt in his mind that the victims hadn’t deserved to die.

Chilton and Alana were the exceptions to the Ripper’s new pattern. Neither of them had been found in an opera house - hell, Chilton hadn't been found at all - but Jack had no doubts that they were dead at the hands of Hannibal and Will. Who else would have an interest in killing them? They, and countless others in addition adding to the body count across Europe; Jack wasn't naive enough to believe that the bodies that had been found were the only ones. It was almost as though they had been on some sort of twisted tour.

Begrudgingly, Jack was also impressed. Some small part of him always had been. Sure, the macabre nature and violence behind the Ripper kills had always horrified him, not to mention the treatment of Miriam Lass and the manipulation of Will, but there had been a small part of him, one that he had never really wanted to acknowledge, which had admired the way that Hannibal had evaded capture for long. And not only evade capture but appear to be such a sociable, sophisticated and put together member of society.

But none of that was going to help him now. Now, it was just the three of them and whatever lay ahead.

He hadn't told Agent Collins about the invitation. As far as he knew, Collins was still running around checking CCTV and airports for any sign of Lecter and Graham. There were no agents backing him up. This wasn’t a matter for the FBI anymore. This was personal. Jack didn’t care that he was disregarding protocol,  breaking the law, that he was going against everything he should as a member of the FBI. If Collins was here, he would want to capture them alive. He would want them to stand trial and see them imprisoned. And honestly, Jack wasn't sure if he would gain any satisfaction seeing them behind bars. The only satisfaction he would gain would be seeing them dead.

While Jack had been lost in thought, the crowd surrounding him had disappeared, all of them entering the auditorium and taking their seats. A steward had moved towards him, asking if he could help, wanting to see his ticket and Jack had attempted to fob him off, stating that he was meeting friends who were late and that they had his ticket.

“Would you be Agent Jack Crawford, by any chance?”

“And if I am?”

“I'm afraid that your friends have been delayed. They left your ticket and a message that they hope to join you for the second act. If you'd like to come with me and I'll show you to your seat, the performance is about to start.”

There was nothing else that Jack could do but follow. There had been no sign of Hannibal or Will in the foyer areas, not one that Jack had seen. This went back to what Bedelia had said; they would come for him when they were ready. They had planned all of this, down to the finest detail, and it was going to be on their terms as opposed to his. He was at a disadvantage here. Jack brushed his hand against his side-arm, taking some small measure of comfort in its familiar weight. There was nothing he could do but wait.

His seat was excellent. Jack hadn’t attended a production here before, much to Bella’s chagrin. She had always wanted him to bring her and he regretted that he had never made the time to do precisely that, one more thing in a long list of regrets when it came to his beloved wife. The acoustic was excellent but, after the first ten minutes, the notes hung in the air unnoticed and the words were a blur of Italian as Jack ignored the surtitles. Instead, his eyes were continually scanning the audience, trying to spot if he could see them. It wasn't easy when you considered that every single person in the room was in evening dress and the lights had been dimmed.

Eventually, right at the end of the first act, he spotted them. They were sat at the back of the stalls, almost hidden in the shadows, but then that made sense. They were already taking a risk by being seen in public in Baltimore, so of course they wouldn't be sat front and centre. Now that he had found them, Jack couldn't tear his eyes away, observing every little thing that he could. They were both wearing tuxedos, just as all of the other men in the room, but Jack would bet that they were bespoke; on the run or not, there was no way that Hannibal Lecter would stoop so low as to wear off the shelf clothing. Jack wasn't sure whose appearance he was more surprised by; Hannibal with the tawny hair falling across his forehead and scruff of a beard hiding his jawline, or Will, clean shaven and the best dressed that Jack had ever seen him.

As the curtain fell on act one, Jack was out of his seat as quick as a flash, hoping that he could catch them. His hopes were in vain though. They weren't in their seats and there was no sign of them in any of the bars. Jack waited until the very last second to take his seat once the bell for the second half had rung, only to find that they had emerged from wherever they had been hiding and were already in their seats.

This time, Jack didn't even attempt to pay attention to the onstage action. The leading soprano could have walked centre stage stark naked and sung a completely different opera, and Jack would have been totally oblivious. Every single part of him was focused on the two men in the stalls. To all intents and purposes, they looked like any other couple in the audience who were out on a date. Hannibal’s gaze was riveted to the stage for the majority of the performance except for when he was staring at Will with a disgustingly lovesick expression. Jack hadn’t thought that the man was capable of displaying emotion; Jack didn’t think he’d seen any in the years that he had known Hannibal. Will was seemingly no better. He paid less attention to the music than Hannibal, but he certainly wasn’t hiding his affections for his husband. He was sending as many lovesick gazes as Hannibal, occasionally leaning up to whisper in the man’s ear. It would seem that married life suited Will and Jack just couldn't quite understand that. He couldn’t reconcile the knowledge that Will had gone from being married to a lovely woman and step-dad to a decent kid to having a husband who was a cannibalistic serial killer.

And then, the two of them looked unerringly in Jack’s direction, meeting his gaze without hesitation, despite the low light of the auditorium. Hannibal’s gaze was as impassive as ever, not giving any insight into his thoughts while Will arched an eyebrow in that infuriating way that he had. It was a challenge, no question about it.

During the second interval, Jack didn’t attempt to find them. Bedelia was right. As much as he chafed at it, this whole evening was clearly running on their schedule and nothing was going to happen until they were ready. Instead, he made his way to the bar and signalled for a drink. All around him, the audience were discussing the production, oblivious to the fact that one of the US’s most notorious serial killers - and apparently his husband - was in their midst. All Jack knew was that he needed the liquid courage for what lay ahead.

The interval, short as it was, seemed almost interminable before the bell rang once more to signify that people should retake their seats. Jack lingered once more and, just as he gave up hope and was preparing to return to his seat having, once again, been the only person left in the foyer, Jack looked up the stairs to the second level and saw Will and Hannibal standing there. Both of them were dressed to the nines in their finery yet looked like something from Jack’s nightmares. Taking a deep breath, Jack started to climb the stairs. There was no point in putting off the inevitable.

This was it. 

~*~

They had disappeared by the time that Jack reached the top of the stairs, but a slowly closing door marked ‘no entry’ told Jack exactly where they'd gone. He took a deep breath and pulled out his side-arm before he pushed the door open. It opened onto a backstage area, a series of gantries that were clearly used for scenery on larger productions. There were a number of ropes and pulleys from the ceiling, extra lighting rigs and any number of miscellaneous items. Stood on one of the gantries, close enough that their shoulders were brushing and not looking remotely affected by what was to come, were Jack’s adversaries. Temporarily ignoring Hannibal, Jack focused his attention on Will, needing answers, needing to understand.

“Why, Will? Why did you do it?”

“Why do you think, Jack? I told you once that I wanted to run away with him, that he was my friend. What I realised was what Hannibal had known from almost the beginning, that he was so much more than that. I love him and I got sick of denying that, to myself and to everyone. I wanted to be happy.”

“And are you?”

“Almost. There’s just one thing I want and that’s peace. The peace and freedom to live with my husband without looking over our shoulders the whole time.”

“If you want that, then you’re going to need to change your social activities.” It was getting harder for Jack to follow them now. They had split up and were moving in and out of the shadows, like predators playing with their prey. And Jack was the prey.

“Are we though? I’m sure you understood our message, have done your research. You’re the last one, Jack. Once you’re gone, then my Will gets everything that he wants.”

“I’m not going to make it easy for you.”

Even in the dim light, Hannibal and Will’s matching shark-like grins, complete with fangs, were clearly visible. “We hadn’t expected you to.”

The first pulley that came swinging towards Jack took him by surprise and he wasn’t quite quick enough to avoid it grazing his ribs. Still, he didn’t waste any time in sending it back, knowing from the grunt that it made contact with one of them. This was just similar to the last two occasions that he had taken Hannibal on - in his kitchen and in Florence - best described as a brawl. All of three of them using whatever was to hand and, when there was nothing there, bare hands. Jack spared a second to wonder if this was how they had fought against Dolarhyde, working together like predators in a pack, flanking him and attacking from both sides. The gun didn’t last long although he did manage to get in a strike across Will’s face before it fell to the floor, tens of feet below them. He fought as hard and as dirty as he could, landing punches and gouges but, as soon as he saw the flash of silver in Hannibal’s hand and the searing heat across his belly. Regardless, he fought as long as he could before he simply couldn’t take the onslaught anymore and his body gave in, sinking to the floor.

“Is it the victory you thought it would be?” Jack gasped as he clutched at the most severe of the wounds that Hannibal and Will had inflicted.

“Does it count as a victory if you are merely giving someone what they want? Even if they are unaware of it.”

“Would it kill you to not to talk in circles for once? Bloody psychiatrists always feel the need to talk in circles.” Jack could hear a snort of laughter from Will and guessed that the man was still sassing Hannibal for all he was worth. Strangely, it gave him a sense of comfort that there was still something of the old Will there, the Will that he had known. Just, as long as you ignored all of the murdering.

“Your heart isn’t in it, Jack. Your search for me consumed your life but you no longer have the energy, the desire to kill me. To kill us. You haven’t had the desire for much since Bella died. What you want more than anything, whether you have admitted it to yourself or not, is to be reunited with her. Who am I to prevent you from doing that?”

Jack snorted, wincing as he felt his broken ribs shift against each other; Will’s aim with the pulley had been disturbingly accurate although Jack knew that his aim had been just as true with one of the lighting rigs. “Am I expected to believe that you’ve become sentimental since you killed the Dragon? You’re not killing me out of some sort of altruism. You’re killing me because you enjoy it and you’ve been trying to do it for years.”

“Perhaps my behaviour isn’t entirely altruistic. However, as much satisfaction as your death would bring as a resolution, I am also thinking of you. When Will decided to throw us over the bluff, it would have been torturous to live without him. I do not think that I could have done as you have without losing your mind.”

“I’m pretty sure that a jury already decided that you weren’t in your right mind several years ago. The only reason you didn’t get the death penalty was because they somehow found you insane.”

“Yes, we know the truth though, don’t we, Jack. I was always perfectly sane.”

“I’m not here to discuss your sanity. If you’re going to kill me, turn me into one of your sick pieces of art, just get on with it for fuck’s sake.”

“Why would I do that, Jack? They were nothing more than pigs, I - we - have a little more respect for you than that. No, when it comes, your death with be swift.”

Hannibal cocked his head as the singing from the stage rose in volume and changed, giving an air of hope and happiness as opposed to the previous tone of destruction.

“Do you know what they’re singing about, Jack? Cleopatra and Caesar are singing of their love and fidelity for each other. In a few moments, they will sing of joy and pleasure returning to their hearts, of their breasts being relieved of sorrow.”

Jack let out a choked noise as Hannibal leant in, cupping his face as his scalpel penetrated Jack’s chest and, unerringly, pierced his heart. “I relieve you of your sorrows, Jack.”

The blade was withdrawn as swiftly as it had entered and Jack knew, could feel it from the swift flow of blood, that this was it. The end. He had known that, when he had entered the building that not all three of them would leave the building. Part of him had accepted fate, that it would be him who would not walk out. As it became harder to focus, Jack was aware of Will stepping forward to take his place at Hannibal’s side, tangling their fingers together. As darkness encroached on his gaze, the last thing he heard was Will’s voice.

“Goodbye, Jack.” 

~*~

The strains of the final chorus, _Ritorni omai nel nostro core,_ followed them through the doors as they walked down the steps hand in hand. As they had predicted, they hadn't made it out unscathed. Their shirts were stained with blood, the rust colour almost but not quite hidden by their jackets. Several cuts on Hannibal’s face were bleeding sluggishly and Will was pretty sure that he had several broken ribs. Nobody stopped them, the stewards out of sight and merely killing time until the end of their shift. As far as they were concerned, their job for the evening was done. At some point in the next few hours, once the curtain had fallen, Jack’s body would be found but, by the time it was, Will and Hannibal planned to be far from Baltimore. Precisely where was still a question up for debate, at least until now.

“What now? Where do we go from here?”

“Anywhere you choose, mylimasis. Wherever takes your fancy. The world is ours for the taking.”

“I liked being near the water in Cuba, but I don’t think I could go back there. And I liked Budapest; the space and the quiet for me, but the city nearby for you. I just want somewhere we’ll both be happy. Somewhere near the water where I can have a peaceful life with you and a couple of dogs. I’ll be happy with that, I don’t need more than that.”

“And no snow, I presume. Very well. I would like to show you Paris before we settle down, if you have no objections. I lived there for a time as a teenager and I have somewhat fond memories of the city. My aunt, the Lady Murasaki, took me to see my first opera there at the Palais Garnier. Meyerbeer's _Robert le Diable_. Perhaps not the best introduction to the medium, but I enjoyed it nonetheless and she continued to foster both my love of music and my musical education. They currently have a very fine production of Gounod’s _Faust_ in their repertoire.”

“You’re going to want to do all of that sappy couples stuff that’s tradition when you go to Paris, aren’t you? Yeah, okay. Paris, it is. And after that?”

“How about Buenos Aires?”

Will cocked his head. “Argentina?”

“The very same. I have a house there, not too dissimilar to the one in Cuba.”

“I trust it will be a shared bedroom from the off, this time?”

“But, of course. I can’t expect to sleep without my husband now, can I? Provided there are no more comments about my sartorial choices.”

“I make no promises. As long as the hat doesn’t make a reappearance. Why Argentina though?”

“Whilst they have an extradition treaty with the US, the government aren’t necessarily as stringent as other countries. Warm weather, good food. There are plenty of opportunities for fishing, renowned performers regularly appear in operatic productions at the Teatro Colón and tango.”

“Dancing? Really? Do you not remember the salsa and the waltzing? I’m sure your feet haven’t forgotten.”

“You are far better than you give yourself credit for. Even if you weren’t, my toes are willing to put up with any number of traumas if I have the pleasure of you in my arms.” Hannibal ignored Will’s muttered “sap” and continued talking, “the subject of tango can always be revisited at a later date. What if I mentioned the proliferation of dog shelters in Buenos Aires? The large yard that would be perfect for … a dog or two. Would that make the destination more enticing?”

“Sold.” As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Will held back, forcing Hannibal to turn and look at him. “I know we were supposed to have this before and it didn’t happen, but did you ever think it would happen again?”

“There is an aria from _Tosca,_ one of the most famous arias in the history of opera; _Vissi d'Arte, Vissi d'Amore._ It translates as I lived for art, I lived for love. The rest of the aria is, less applicable to our situation. However, for a long time, my own particular brand of art and the amusement and satisfaction that it brought sustained me. And then I met you. And my art wasn’t the only thing that sustained me. My love for you took over. When we fought the Dragon and you threw us from the bluff injured, it was not art that I lived for, it was my love for you.”

Will swallowed heavily. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? He may have had eighteen months of Hannibal’s romantic side but that didn’t mean that he was used to it. He liked it though. Stretching up, Will kissed Hannibal, clinging to him and pouring every single emotion and thing that he couldn’t verbalise into the kiss before he pulled back. “Paris it is, then Argentina. And Vissi d’amore.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you would like to share on Tumblr, you can do so [here](http://vix-spes.tumblr.com/post/180027115495/murder-husbands-big-bang-title-vissi-darte)


End file.
